Woke up this morning around 5:30 due to an anxiety dream about work.
It's always the same one, I am by myself at the restaurant and more and more impatient and angry people sit down to eat. I don't have time to even greet all of these tables, let alone get their drinks and make the salads and do all of the little things that they are asking me to do. I awoke in a panic when a table asked to speak to a manager.
What's weird is that I should be having anxiety dreams about more important things today. I have a meeting tonight to discuss the possibility of turning my blog (not this one) into a book. I'm a nervous wreck about it. This is the first real chance that I've ever had as a writer, and it doesn't even seem like that much of a chance.
And I guess that's why I'm nervous. It seems that since I left the church, I've made nothing but bad life decisions. And though I am always amazed at how much beauty and joy can arise in spite of making such horrible choices, I worry that my decision to be a writer is just another wrong turn. I worry that I am going to end up lost.
I imagine that one of the hardest questions an artist has to ask himself is this: when do you know it's not going to happen? When do you give up?
I am so torn right now.
I want to keep following my dreams.
But I am tired of the constant failing.
I wish I had someone to talk to.
I wish this stupid diary could write back.
6:23 a.m. - 2011-11-14
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
I remember me. - 2014-10-17
The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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