Date posted: September 7, 2005 - Wednesday
Title: Tired and pensive at midweek
Current mood: contemplative
So I wrote a long blog last night and then there was an error when I tried to post it to MySpace. It went away and I didn't bother to try and recreate it.
Probably just as well because I was in a really black mood. No one wants to listen to my self pitying rambling -- not in person and certainly not here.
And tonight I sit here at work and am drained and deep in a strange mood about life. There's still work I have to do and I don't know how much of it I will get done, but right now I have to unburden my soul for a moment. --A little "ME" time.
I know it sounds immodest, but I have always considered myself to be an artistic and sensitive soul. For years it was just a secret thought I harbored deep in the recesses of my mind and heart.
Over time I have come to be more open about it and more accepting of the manner in which God has made me.
I was given a talent by God and genetics and nurtured through the manner in which I was raised by two loving and caring parents. I can communicate. Through a love of words and writing I can pass along to others the things I see, the things I feel and how I see the world. I think I do it very well. (It took me years to be able to say that out loud. Too timid for much of my life and lacking outside validation, I could not express that belief to others out of fear I would be ridiculed and thought to be too egotistical.)
In some ways I think I see and feel things more deeply than most (again an immodest statement), but that is what is necessary in order to communicate effectively. So much is lost in the translation between thought and the written, or even spoken, word. So, the artist (if I can call myself that) must feel things more deeply in order to pass along those feelings through the imperfect method of the written word.
And this gift I have been given is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because is seems so few can really express the full spectrum of life. A curse because you have to suffer the pain and endure the feelings in order to be able to translate them into a form to pass along to the world of those who wish to read your thoughts.
And so I suffer the pain and endure the feelings because I must.
My failure has been I have not processed a lot of what I have experienced in the last few years into something I can pass along to the world at large. A sin I will probably pay for when I pass from this life. A sin of sloth, or fear or lack of confidence.
And the longer I go without putting the things I experience into some written form, the more little pieces of my soul wither and die.
An writer I like once said that an "author" writes because of the money or the fame or because he wants to. A "writer" writes because he has to. It can become like a small vicious animal eating at your insides and the longer you ignore that beast, the more damage it does to your heart and your soul.
And so I sit, pensive. Alone with the thoughts of the talent I have squandered or misused, with the opportunities I was too timid to take and with the fear of the eventual consequences to come.
I only pray that God will grant me forgiveness for wasting the talent he blessed me with, or that He will
