Sitting here listening to music and once again doing endless excercises I feel a great sense of futility. I mean, I know these things take time, maybe. I know I could be braver in my studies and try to get some legitimate art knowledge down. I know I'd lose all sense of fun but probably improve a bit over time. I don't say it's impossible to get better, I just think it's naive for me to think that way.
I believe talent exists. There's the simple fact that some people are just kickass at what they do, and I know I'll always be in the regular ranks of people, no matter how much I push myself ther'll be no final peak I'll reach and say 'I did it. I finally made it to being a great artist/writer'. I know my lot in life, that's not where I'll end up. All I have to do is just look at the grass on the side of the road and try to find meaning and excitement in that like I used to. The moon and the stars are territories for others to conquer, and Godspeed to all those who reach those heights.
Because it's exhausting, always waiting for things to click. It's naive to think that all the things in the world trying to kill me won't finally get their chance and stop me in my track. I'd rather have wistful regret about not attaining excellence than regretting not tackling the projects that I wanted to do while I wanted to.
Apathy would be a great feeling right now. An empty feeling would be a solace. But I feel anger, and frustration at my abilities. I WANTED this . I wanted the awesome artwork. I wanted to tell stories along with amazingly painted vistas to accompany them. Even if it weren't the top, I'd be in the top club, the one which is universally accepted as 'You're a good artist, and writer' minus all the fact that some people are just really kind and won't say you're art is shit to your face (not that i'd like people to be honest about that)
It's the festive season, isn't it? I guess I've got to get into the mood, but other than that I've cast my lot, made my bed, and set up my shabby camp. I'll try to find the riches in the little that I can manage to do, and be content with the fact that I got as much of the things I wanted to express out of me while I still could.
Here's to enough tomorrows for me to achieve that.