April 7, 2007 1:37am CST
It hurts. No matter how many times you go through it; a part of you rebels and cries out, "Not fair!" The question I ask is, is all this rejection really going to do something to make me wiser, stronger, harder to crack-when it comes to the pressure...or am I just wasting my time trying? It seems to go in bouts. First, you type away, blah, blah, blah...and nothing seems to go anywhere. You've run out of ideas. You've lost steam and no amount of typing will erase the headache that's starting to form in the back of your eye sockets. It throbs and robs you of your ability to focus, to concentrate on anything. And it goes on like this for a long stretch. You make excuses: My fingers are cramped, my back hurts, I feel sick to my stomach, my neck is sore. No one will read it anyway. I seem to be getting worse. What's the point? Then....Ta da! Sunshine pours through those dusty and dank shutters of your mind and out comes a rush of jubilation. Your fingers fly. They writhe and itch to touch a keyboard. Without warning, the headache is gone, depression lifted, clarity restored, and a sense of pulsing vigour grips you in the throes of a wild and dangerous passion. Why is it dangerous? Because it doesn't last. But you think it will. OH...those clouds are gone for good. Now all I have to look out for is naysayers. Ah...they are so naive. They think they can pull me down with their sarcasm and well-intentioned attempts at humour, yet I'm above it all. I'm on a whole nother level and no one can touch me! Let them try, and see the wrath of love that comes from my breast. Let them try to warn me, critisize me, forelorn me. It's all so pathetic...their attempts to understand the grand and great. The awesome, majestic, the high-flying and miraculous transformation I've gone through. How could they when they are mere mortals untouched by the hand of God. So goes my conceite all the while, the devil works out just how much pain is just around the bend. As I am about to embark on a journey to end all journeys...I come crashing back down to earth and land in a pile of stink. There's so much to do. So little time. What was I thinking about just winging it and going with the flow? I must have been crazy! The sad part is that this cycle repeats itself again and again and again, never letting up. Either I'm way up there in the spirit world, or I'm so low that all I see is my torn, sneakered feet with the broken shoelace and the discoloured jeans, holes in the toes of my socks and a crick in the way I walk, labouring to make it up out of bed to do something constructive. Sleeping all the while and tears streaming down my face as pain wracks me from head to toe. I sob and grit my teeth. I smash things out of my way, kick at my clothes with a futile effort of energy that leaves me more sapped than ever. Everything seems to be in my way; so much clutter, careless people trample upon my feelings and use cutting words unconsiously to shatter my dreams into little shards of ridiculousness when compared with the REAL world of money, time, and energy needed, along with lack of any marketable resources. Negativity, once again, takes a firm hold and buries itself with the determination of a worm into my mind.
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