This piece was thought up on April 25, 2015 but originally published November 23, 2015 because it felt germane for the time for some reason. I can’t remember. It has also been prefaced. That’s kind of funny.
the following is an old entry about a feeling; if it is even of exiguous significance i will be content with its public existence
“what have you been working on lately?”
“my new novel, but i feel it’s going nowhere.”
“why do you feel that way? what’s been stopping you?”
“i don’t know. but i’d rather be expressing myself right now.
it feels as though i haven’t written in years. i feel bottled indignation and inexpressive languor. i don’t know how to deal with it, or what the best method of handling even is…
i’m not sure what i need right now. i know where i would like to be, and beside me lies the guide book that will get me there and yet i remain off course.”
“what course do you–“
“so i suppose i’m lacking patience. i suppose that’s what i need. i know faith will help me get it, but i feel as though i am standing still, unable to oscillate in any direction, maybe i’m not ready to move anywhere yet, perhaps i have to experience stillness to know that within the oblivion there lies a strange tranquility and peace in the confusion.
at least that’s what i have to tell myself right now to be able to stay comforted, at ease, and pleasant.
“i don’t know. i need patience.
i pray for patience; i’m praying for patience.”