5:17 p.m. - December 01, 2002
Not Sisyphus
Strict (unrealistic?) writing schedule to follow and distractions are disallowed though tonight's sunset and faint lights made me pause. I neglected to disallow pauses and perhaps for good reason.
Having difficulty focusing but that is too bad; the goal must be achieved tonight. January 1 stares me down like a cholo in a souped-up Mustang against me in a jalopy or worse yet, well-traveled jitney with bald tires and no winshield. Intimidating. It is enough to make me want to slink away quietly and become functionally illiterate Book? What book? but this is escapism and that, too, is disallowed.
I wonder if I'll make it, see the end of this project. Do you know I'm somewhat ashamed of it? I discount it and prefer not to talk to friends about what I'm doing; after all, it's just a textbook and not the Great American Novel. There again, the just, further evidence of discounting. I realize that discounting my work is an attempt to discount myself. Sneaky self-doubt. It seems to me that this project and my regard for the work mirrors the antipathy and distaste I hold for myself and that is the bigger challenge. It is not deadlines and print schedules and filming and DVDs and six books with my name on the covers. It is me saying I like what I do and am proud of it. That is ancillary to what I seek; what I aspire towards is saying I like me, period, and meaning it.
Not today, maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for a while. Neither improbable or impossible. Simply a goal.
Back to work.
