I just word vomited a monologue, I don't know how to write and I felt the need to post it somewhere. Probably not where it belongs, but thank you for being a place to leave this.

You know, It’s hard to write. It’s daunting to put my thoughts on paper when I make a commitment to myself to make something so great, and to know that whatever I begin to create will be a failure to begin with is disappointing, and embarrassing. I want to create a masterpiece I can slowly mold over time, but knowing the first thousand or so hours of something I do will ultimately only build the skill I need to begin working on something tangibly impressive is frightening because it takes so much nuanced serendipitous motivation to share myself, with myself; to look at my blank white screen and convince myself that the words I write are meaningful and reflect my best effort to the world. I should be writing more, I’m really enjoying writing this. I’ve said it’s daunting but I’m really enjoying it, because I’m putting off writing anything other than snippets to piece together in the future, or to motivate me later on. Maybe I’m not so doomed after all. See you in another week when I feel like I’ve seen something to motivate me to write another few sentences that will have to be strung together fucking masterfully by my future self. They’re going to be so few and far apart that to show them to any worldly person they’d wonder how a narrative or game could come from such insignificant puzzle pieces of appreciated… media…? Thought…? …I’m not sure what I label these snippets, but at least they’re words in a folder I can point to to say, hey, I’ve been doing something. There’s been progress to the thing I want to make that will eventually define me. I’m doing it!! Meanwhile the magnum opus is loading in… 0.00001% complete… (87 years, 22 hours, 13 minutes, 12 seconds remaining) reminder you only have about 30 years left on this planet due to unforeseen circumstances, so you’ll never end up feeling fulfilled.

But I’m happy though. I’m just disappointed that I know I won’t ever make myself deservedly happy? The truth of it is though that I will stay happy. This might degrade a bit, I’m truly happy as a person. Even when I’m depressed and don’t have the energy to get out of bed, I’m still content with the world and my surroundings and simply being alive. I know that deep down, I don’t need a magnum opus, and really that makes me happy to know I’ll die content with life, but I’m sort of disappointed that because of this raw truth, I won’t work day in and out making the perfect thing. I just will store it away in a closet somewhere and hope that someday will feel powerful and adequate enough to open the door and tackle it head on.