A Life of Constant Failure

 To re-read my journals is to discover a life of continual failure.

I'm currently using the last half of a journal I started in 1995 to deal with my inability to create. I was working with the assignments in a book called Writing the Natural Way by Gabriele Lusser Rico. People are always telling me I'm "creative." And yes, I have two self-published books of poetry out there. And I have stacks, and stacks, and stacks of artwork in the basement.

This is all part of my failure to believe I have value and that my work has value outside of my relationship to other people.

At the tail end of the 1995 part of this journal is a letter I wrote to myself:

Dear Kake --
Remember that you are an artist! It's the writing and the creating that are important. Fuck the rest. Love God. Praise god. You're a child of god the creator. So take time to create.
-- Kake

 Somehow, now that I seem to be crawling out of the most overwhelming aspects of The Grief, I need to find this creative self again.

However - I will avoid the experience of almost 30 years ago when, shortly after I wrote this to myself, I fell in love with a colleague and almost got myself fired. At 70 I know enough about myself to understand that when I am deeply attracted to someone I can absolutely predict they are the type of person to stab me in the heart with a spiritual hat pin. What this feels like is, "Ooooh, I'm really, really drawn to this person. I better not talk to them again."

But those are stories for another time.