So it’s just shortly after I’ve written the first thing, the pool thing, the girl thing. I think what a load of junk that is. I mean really, I know it is old hat to think of your work as trash and no good and uninspired but I really just feel “meh” by it all. Where is my excitement and ambition? - That spark! - Hiding on the dark side of the moon in a parallel dimension.

When I was a kid I was a pretty good Lego builder . When I was a kid I was a pretty good drawer. I could write OK, I could be funny at times. But I wasn’t great at any of it. I was a jack of all trades and thus none at all. Wonderful. I think I’m still there, a monkey in the middle of this jack of all and none thing.

 And then I think it is bullshit. I hate it. And then I stop and look at what I just wrote and believe it all again. Wam! Bam! It all comes rushing back. Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, come one, come all to the greatest worst show on Earth! Amateur of the Ambivalent.

I cringe at that. I’m really trying hard. Like me! Like me! Tell me what I’m doing is unique and funny, touches a chord, has some purpose. I need to hear it.

And then I realize (and it’s not the first time) that all I’m doing is complaining and I wonder if when I try and write anything of personal importance or process that it sounds whiny and that I should just shut up… Where does this self-animosity come from? Well of course it comes from me… but where really? Or I should ask… why?

Answers don’t come cheap and I don’t have the cash to pay up.