You don't have enough...

Here we are again. The want, need even, to be productive and write something. An inspiration, some small bit of gumption, and absolutely nowhere to go with it. Folders full of ideas halfed baked or left out of the oven completely.

This has been part of my struggle with the oppression of purpose since as long as I can remember. I feel compelled to try to produce. I'm worthless as a consumer being that I hate it. Blind consumption is a cancer, and when I can manage it, I obstain completely. So that leaves me with trying to find something meaningful to consume or diving back into this idea that I, too, can be one of the producers.

I'm confident that one day I'll stumble around enough to make a complete something. One day I'll finish one of the multiple projects I've started and maybe send it out into the world. I don't have the patience or honestly the talent to will myself to grind out a novella or collection of anything on a consistent basis, though. More likely than not, I'll leave behind a trail of unfinished manuscripts for whoever is left that cares enough to sift through.

And that's okay. At least, that's what I'm working on teaching myself. There was once a time when I enjoyed writing just to write. I'd have an idea and I'd write until I got it out or got bored with it. But somewhere along the line I convinced myself that I could make a job out of it, and it became a true demon to wrestle with. This happens to so many people. They are told that they should monetize their hobbies, try to milk the things they enjoy for some scratch. Otherwise, what's the point, right?

It's 100% depressing that I can't seem to finish a story to any meaningful conclusion. I have a lot of ideas that I really like on paper, so to speak. But every time I try to work on them, I get frustrated because I stall, as part of the process, and fall back into the loop of You don't have enough to make this work. It's a conditioning that is proving very difficult to overcome.