Often as a writer I pour over whether what I am writing is something that should command any attention. I reach out for the ethereal words to grasp them from the semi-opaque vapors in my mind that pass for thoughts, trying earnestly to say something significant. It is nearly inexpressible how I often feel that this is an exercise in futility: I can never say it well enough. It will fail, I fear… I believe. I even wrote an untitled poem back in early March that I posted on my personal Instagram (@prramer) that spoke to this feeling of inevitable failure at words.
failure
Overlooked
Scratchpad
This is what I feared would happen
And didn’t want to happen
But did happen
I allowed myself to see possibilities
To develop feelings and grow attached
But the possibility was snatched
And fate rudely substituted
Heartache for my hope
And tears for my happiness
I will confess
I want … Continue reading
An especially exhausting day
Writer's JournalI am at that point today where I feel like I should just cry, and maybe that would be best. Today was exhausting and yet there are things I still need to work on for my classes so I don’t fall behind. I can’t help but feel like I just want to disconnect for a few hours and then go to bed.
Although some both fun and funny things happened today in the studio, the session went too long and was tiring. I didn’t sleep enough for my needs last night and the night prior, so I was tired once I arrived to school. When the studio session was over and everything put away, I felt like going home even though I still needed to make a silver gelatin print for a competition I am want to enter before the deadline on Wednesday.
Maybe Never
Scratchpad
In my little garden, I plant
Little, frail seeds in oil black soil
Whose hopes are to grow firm and rich
In fruit and vine
Emerging… again
Writer's JournalToday I emerge from the tunnel. I sought a hope and failed. Now I acknowledge I have no control and accept my failure.
This time was not as bad as the the last one. Only three months had I spent this time compared to the six months the time before. My speed at discernment is increasing: I no longer hope against the hopelessness and wait. I allow for deficiencies, but once the pattern is set, I cease to believe.