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I’m kind of feeling friendless and unloved tonight. I hate this feeling. The rational part of my brain knows it’s not true but that little area is currently being crushed by the part of me that feels depressed and sorry for myself. Sometimes it feels like the world goes on and makes plans without me and I’m being perpetually left behind and left out, never able to catch up. And then little voices whisper “so why even bother, nitwit?” (Maybe you — yes, you — love me anyway… do you? Yes that is a desperate plea for outside affirmation… sad, I know.)
I know that the little voices are the manifestation of Resistance. I just began reading a really interesting book called “The War of Art” by Steven Pressfield. In it he discusses the very real force within us all, but especially in creative types, that he calls Resistance, and this is the force that does everything in its power to prevent us from actually fulfilling our life’s purpose. This is why I am a painter who doesn’t paint. But far be it from me to blame some “force” for my problems — I know the force is me. But maybe visualizing it as a “thing” will help me be able to overcome it. I don’t know, I’m not that far into the book yet. We’ll see.
I took a yoga class this afternoon in lieu of running. i’m really glad, because running seems to be making my muscles very tight, and I think that I really need the yoga to help keep me limber. So far this week I’ve only run 5 miles. Friday at lunch I’m running another 3, because after work I’m going to a happy hour with some friends/colleagues.
One last random thing: Luxuria Music offers a fantastic (free) iTunes music stream — sophisticated lounge, jazz, swing, retro… great stuff! You can just turn it on all day and listen. I’m feeling hipper already.
valerie and i LOVE our katy friend, and we think of you daily, because your painting speaks to us daily from our dining “room” wall — and at work, a second katy painting speaks to me all day long from its spot of honor above my desk
so, feel the love
i am a writer who never writes; you are a painter who never paints; we should have a party with a singer who never sings, a dancer who never dances, and a juggler who never juggles
Well, I’m easily the “singer who never sings”. And, if you want to take a very loose definition of dancing, I’m also a dancer who never dances. Now we just need a non-juggling juggler..
K
thanks guys. i know i was just feeling sorry for myself. i try not to let that happen too often and rarely do i go whining about it to other people. so i’m a wee bit embarrassed. 🙂
y’all are great friends.
we need to start a club or something; the Unfulfilled Creatives Society, or the Fill-in-the-blankers who never Fill-in-the-blank. we can come to meetings and talk about how we never get anything done in our creative lives, and we can have much sangria and martinis to ease our angst.
Juggler who never juggles here. Ask, and you shall receive. Heh.
Sometime, ask me about Katy’s and my ill-fated high school juggling troupe, Projectiles Incorporated (!), making its theatrical debut at the Boy Scout Jamboree. Be still my heart.
Oh, and if we’re playing Top My Dearth of Motivation, also put me down for Writer Who Never Writes and Actor Who Seldom Acts. Fear of failure is most decidedly Not Our Friend.
Oh, well, sending the lurrrve vibe to Katy anyway…
Kimberly
Seulette suis et seulette veux être,
Seulette m’a mon doux ami laissée,
Seulette suis, sans compagnon ni maître,
Seulette suis, dolente et courroucée,
Seulette suis en langueur mésaisée,
Seulette suis plus que nulle égarée,
Seulette suis sans ami demeurée.
The saddest things are not diminished by things sadder still;
streams and rivers go down hill,
as after years dancing embarassment lingers still
with lost children never met
and pictures of lost family fading
all are true
the damns we build say some should be held;
waters retained from the delicate veld.
but rather the sluice gates yawn,
drops or deluge ignoring
then they leave remenants
of today’s sorrows tomorrow
a sad poem, a true poem, words of bittersweet tastes in the mouth, memories of things never to be. i’ve read this several times today. thank you to whoever left it here. i never know who’s reading my words unless you leave comments. it’s nice to think that maybe more people than i realize, actually care.