Monday, July 25, 2011
Get on with it
Rusty. My fingers, my ideas, my ... flow. Rusty in how to get the thoughts down, no, not even that. Rusty in what thoughts? What ideas? Was this ever easy?
Keep thinking I need a schedule. I need to schedule the time, and then steal what I can. Feels an impossible task and so I put it off. Like in an interview, what is your fault? The fake answer, I'm a perfectionist...don't like to delegate control, sometimes don't finish things...the real answer? Afraid of failure, perhaps? So close, before, to accomplishing. Life got in the way a bit, the way I imagine cancer or death or catastrophic failure does.
That was helpful; that bit of regurgitating above. Perhaps to let it out, the hurt and disappointment, will allow the freedom to go forward? Perhaps, as there are tears in my eyes and a welling in my chest. Perhaps to acknowledge that some was my fault and some not; that things happen and that that is life, and to say it's okay. I'm on no one's schedule but my own. And I can be sorry and be sad that it hasn't moved at warp speed. Or I can say, okay, too bad, now get on with it.
Now get on with it.