Indignation
Sep. 14th, 2004 02:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vaneramosTonight I was angry at the world. It was an unfamiliar sensation.
The day wasn't bad. I did some writing, then made![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
manhattan's yummy power pancakes for lunch.
I drove to Staples and bought a new pen because the old one got scratchy. Also new printer cartridges, so I can print my resume.
Then I stopped at the gym for the first time since May 25, when I started these pills. Swimming and hiking has kept me toned all summer, but I've gained about seven pounds thanks to the drug. I did the chest and back routines with the same weights as before. By then, sweating hard, I decided to cut the session short, shower and go home.
I made a shake with milk, a peach, a scoop of protein supplement, and a scoop of ice cream. It was delicious.
The anger came later. I was thinking about my writing, and how I have let photography—and my hunger for affirmation—distract me from my original purpose of a literary journal. Poetry and fiction don't draw comments as easily as images.
Now here I have a therapist advising me to concentrate on everything but my creative output. Life carries on, yet I'm still torn between what I want and what people tell me is practical. I have misusedvaneramos, fishing for comments and attention (and sulking when I don't receive them), while my true aspirations fell into neglect. Earlier this evening I was ready to dump the journal.
Self-confidence doesn't come easily, but I trust my writing to keep me grounded. Words feel powerful. Few things matter to me as much as having a fountain pen that doesn't scratch.
I made a fresh batch of pesto to have with shell pasta for a late dinner. Feeling angry at the world isn't so bad. Really it's anger at myself for losing my way again.
Anger motivates action. I feel energized and purposeful. It's better than getting depressed, and I can thank Remeron for that.
The journal is a metaphor for life, and I must change my approach to it.
The day wasn't bad. I did some writing, then made
manhattan's yummy power pancakes for lunch.I drove to Staples and bought a new pen because the old one got scratchy. Also new printer cartridges, so I can print my resume.
Then I stopped at the gym for the first time since May 25, when I started these pills. Swimming and hiking has kept me toned all summer, but I've gained about seven pounds thanks to the drug. I did the chest and back routines with the same weights as before. By then, sweating hard, I decided to cut the session short, shower and go home.
I made a shake with milk, a peach, a scoop of protein supplement, and a scoop of ice cream. It was delicious.
The anger came later. I was thinking about my writing, and how I have let photography—and my hunger for affirmation—distract me from my original purpose of a literary journal. Poetry and fiction don't draw comments as easily as images.
Now here I have a therapist advising me to concentrate on everything but my creative output. Life carries on, yet I'm still torn between what I want and what people tell me is practical. I have misused
vaneramos, fishing for comments and attention (and sulking when I don't receive them), while my true aspirations fell into neglect. Earlier this evening I was ready to dump the journal.Self-confidence doesn't come easily, but I trust my writing to keep me grounded. Words feel powerful. Few things matter to me as much as having a fountain pen that doesn't scratch.
I made a fresh batch of pesto to have with shell pasta for a late dinner. Feeling angry at the world isn't so bad. Really it's anger at myself for losing my way again.
Anger motivates action. I feel energized and purposeful. It's better than getting depressed, and I can thank Remeron for that.
The journal is a metaphor for life, and I must change my approach to it.
