Wednesday Night Angst Edition Remix
Anxiety and injury go hand-in-hand with self doubt. They feed on each other and flourish together in a kind of incestuous cannibalism that would make George R.R. Martin jealous. (Or inspired?)
And I still doubt! After making it to 30 years of age, I still doubt:
* That my adult life is real
* That I am an adult at all or deserve to be treated as such
* I can do anything useful
* People see anything good in me
* that I am small enough to fit in clothes
* that I am loud enough for people to hear
* that people even want to hear
* that anyone loves me for real
* that I'll ever finish that story
* that people value my words
* that I've ever earned anything by my own efforts. Instead, I have somehow tricked folks into giving me a modest paycheck for doing absurdly easy tasks
* that I am full of anything but shit, especially when I feel profound
But hey! I DON'T doubt that poetry is awesome. Or the words of other, better writers. I believe in the power of words even though I suck at writing and expressing myself and communicating honestly, openly, non-passive aggressively.
I'd say I am a work in progress, but nothing is progressing. Same shit, different day; same hiding spot to avoid the same shit. What should I do to improve? I'm getting dangerously tired at a time in my life when I need extra energy. Again. And sometimes I have the energy but not the will or focus to complete my tasks. And there are so many tasks for a person who is a child still trying to live a woman's life and be there for loved ones and maintain a modicum of health and balance.
Man, when did this happen? Back in my college years I could bury my entire being inside of concepts and ideas and that was enough. Now I have to think of and take care of myself as well.
I have to remind myself that I am probably worth taking care of, at the end of the day.
And I still doubt! After making it to 30 years of age, I still doubt:
* That my adult life is real
* That I am an adult at all or deserve to be treated as such
* I can do anything useful
* People see anything good in me
* that I am small enough to fit in clothes
* that I am loud enough for people to hear
* that people even want to hear
* that anyone loves me for real
* that I'll ever finish that story
* that people value my words
* that I've ever earned anything by my own efforts. Instead, I have somehow tricked folks into giving me a modest paycheck for doing absurdly easy tasks
* that I am full of anything but shit, especially when I feel profound
But hey! I DON'T doubt that poetry is awesome. Or the words of other, better writers. I believe in the power of words even though I suck at writing and expressing myself and communicating honestly, openly, non-passive aggressively.
I'd say I am a work in progress, but nothing is progressing. Same shit, different day; same hiding spot to avoid the same shit. What should I do to improve? I'm getting dangerously tired at a time in my life when I need extra energy. Again. And sometimes I have the energy but not the will or focus to complete my tasks. And there are so many tasks for a person who is a child still trying to live a woman's life and be there for loved ones and maintain a modicum of health and balance.
Man, when did this happen? Back in my college years I could bury my entire being inside of concepts and ideas and that was enough. Now I have to think of and take care of myself as well.
I have to remind myself that I am probably worth taking care of, at the end of the day.