Time and Time Again.

The worst time is time lost, when you thought you could be gaining. Spent a few hours writing a-could-be-story. In the back of my mind, considering the time that takes and all the enormous - unbearable - amounts of other work I also have to be doing. And then all of a sudden it goes from day to night and it's after 10pm, I break, somewhat proud of what has been written, go to a friends, come back, have the part read, and in my head - one beat, two beat, three, four, five - "Uh, Chelsea, no, no, none of this. I can't read it. No good." Just like that. As if it's so easy to place emotion on a page. Not even sections. Not even lines. Not even the chance to see the direction. Just, as always, "I know your work and this is too abstract." And I sit with my work in my lap and look at it like one can with time - abstractly, curious whether its been wasted and myself with it.

No one wants to feel dumb or defeated either. But at times the most resonating feeling is being unwanted, which also is the most unwanted feeling. And what do you do with that? Try to compose yourself time and time again.

Unfortunately, when I spend time articulating the self, the other, the memory the reader doesn't want me. I've taken this to heart and tried to change. Accounts were less of everything. I don't know, I suppose they touched people, but really? They seemed obvious, like everything was being given away. Unfortunately, many readers accepted me when I was feeding them.

Ah, hell, spooning is what I'm after. Feeding = fulfillment. Spooning = sensation, prospect, the lack. It's a tease, it's an involvement, pleasure is give and take. Why do people think writers already know everything? We write to discover knowledge, but when we begin we are empty.

I feel that more times than not.