When I get home, I have to find time to be creative. I absoluely have to devote time to it, and I must produce real stuff. No more of this producing a zillion half-complete projects shit. I have about 100 or so half-complete awesome ideas laying around, but half-complete, they are worth nothing. Not even sentimental value.
I have inner obstacles I need to face. I know why I can't find time. Actually, finding time is not my real problem. The real problem is completing things. I can't complete stuff because of my expectations, and the expectations that I assume others have of me. I have a plan of what to do with everything. I know exactly what I have to do, how to do it, how long it will take, how much it will cost and where the money will come from. I really love to say I am too busy. But I am really just too afraid.
"Don't be afraid, Jen, you can do it!" I know, I know. Thanks for the pep talk. That doesn't seem to get through my thick and stubborn skull.
In reality, at the very depths of my heart, I am afraid that I will find that being creative will not gain me any more love. I think, when it comes to love and acceptance, being liked and respected, I will never get enough. I wonder if that is how it is for everyone. That is what I ultimately want and what I have always longed for. For the longest time, I sought it out in the form of a romantic partner. Now I have found one that totally fulfills me with tons of love and respect, in a way I could ave never imagined. And I still feel I need more. I feel I will not be satisfied until every person in the world knows me and loves me and adores me. And I seem to think I can achieve that by weaving scarves? Writing novels? Drawing pictures? No matter what I do, I will always have those who love me and those who don't. In fact, the more there are that love me, the more there will ultimately be that don't. I have a hope and fear of fame.
Everything I do is frantically seeking love and acceptance. It makes me crazy. A year or so ago I decided to accept that I will never fully attain the amount of love that I seek. It is impossible.
What would I want to do with my life if no one ever noticed or cared?
weave draw and write still, just because I love doing them. I suppose.
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