Staring At My Incomplete Work

If you ever caught me like this, which you never could, it would be easy to assume that despair is tormenting me.

Yes, I might be frustrated, but somehow, this is the most satisfying and worthwhile activity to pursue.

Often, I complain about not having enough time (to work on my art). And this takes many minutes, multiple times a day when I would otherwise be busy painting. 

While torture wouldn't be able to uncover what I'm thinking while sitting there, I've never wasted a minute staring at my incomplete work.

Then, when a piece is complete, I never look at it with the same passion. I still love (and hate) it, but there's so much less to see when you've already made all the decisions.

Only occasionally I desire social attention


It's not that they're inadequate -- I couldn't know


For something I likely wouldn't want anyway

Desiring Something You Don't Want

It's so easy, maybe too easy, to talk when I'm not thinking about it; words, sentences, and stories quickly and without restraint come out of me.

Sometimes, I have to think about what to say. Then, I understand how the Buddhist monks do it -- because, it feels like, not even a letter or number comes to mind.

There seems to be nothing more difficult in this world than having to think about conversation.

I can only assume that people desire to be among others much, seeing all the boring high-effort things they don't care about, they do to achieve it. 

Perhaps it's easier for them. Or maybe they don't know how to entertain themselves.

Occasionally, I also have a desire for social attention. When that happens, I might do something tiresome I don't care about, talking to strangers.

And when that's easy, it can be fun, but it quickly reminds me of why I spend so much time alone. It's not that the people are inadequate -- maybe they are, but it's hard to get to know them. 

No, I'm alone because it costs so much effort to do a tedious task for something I probably wouldn't want anyway.

Most Vivid Recent Memories Are dreams

Sometimes, while reflecting on my life, it's hard to determine how long certain aspects have been present. 

An example is that (maybe recently), throughout my day, I have some memory of an odd situation that only ever happened in my head.

Yet such a memory often still feels as vivid as the memories about my recent visit to my parents, when I went to a poetry night or a walk I went on.

I don't know if I'm ever confused whether a memory is real or not -- I don't think I am, but if they feel as vivid, how could I know? 

And should I even care? 

A beggar I once knew spent half his life dreaming he was a king; the guy was just a king waking up to be a beggar.