I get so exhausted by writing; I have to slow myself down to get everything out because my thoughts are moving so quickly that by the time I've had a realisation, I've long forgotten the thing that began it. I wish I could just dictate what was in my head but I have the stupid egotistical need to edit myself before I can be seen. The same reason I wear make up and can't abide when housemates bring people in unexpectedly and the group mess of students makes me panic thinking the guest will leave muttering curses about my filthiness. Irrational. It's probably why I never stick to this writing malarkey. I get so exhausted through each entry after a few lines or paragraphs that I give up. Then wonder why half a diary of half finished entries isn't showing the complete story. Ironic.
I wire myself up into such a frenzy and struggle to organise my thoughts. I'm such a perfectionist, focusing on having the finished thought like a light bulb without writing down the work that gets me there without creating the art that finished the idea. I freeze instead of doing it because I'm afraid of making mistakes. Of only making mistakes. Of never having anything good enough to be known by, to have this whole idea of myself as an artist be washed away as youthful folly, as a child's dream and a waste of an education.
