I’ve relied on my past writings for long enough, and the more I skim through exaggerated emotions, the more I realize I have nothing. I must learn to compete with myself and try to outdo my latest masterpiece each time I set out to write. On the contrary, I may never write again if I attempt to do that, and the way things have been going, I think it best to write crap than to write nothing at all. Yes, I’ve been uninspired. Yes, I’ve grown impatient and lazy. Yes, I’ve become disillusioned with my progression through life, but creating wasted time is certainly no cure. It is time to begin again and find new meaning to whatever I see fit. I hate where I’m at, but I always have, and I think my biggest problem is lack of accomplishment. If I could just grab hold of some type of success, I would have an easier time chasing after the unknown. I am too concerned with age, and health, and grades, and money to concentrate on anything substantial. But I am still holding on despite my inevitable relapses, and I am strengthening my many different characters by acknowledging their existence.
September 16, 2003