I should be past fearing Mondays – but it’s been a week of no sleep. Heather’s back, sleep’s not. I’m reading through rejections from venues and from festivals, and I wonder about the flame that burns so bright in me, and if I really have the excuse to keep going… if I have the right. The concept, that perhaps this too is a passion that will die in me, like it has for so many others – all those people who say “Yeah, I used to play guitar, almost made it once” all those people who say “yeah, I found my guitar the other day” – I find that so sad, but perhaps it’s realism. Not that I’ve give this an ounce of effort yet. Not compared to what I have in me.
Just a frustrating night, and I get so depressed when I can’t sleep. But depressed is better than that horrible grey-zone which I find so frequently now – that feeling of not-feeling. That’s inexcusable. That can’t be what I am.
I am going to be accused of being too personal again.