3 Pages Attempt Again 3

Went shopping today. I talked with my writing friend before I went and it seems that I'm still so far behind the people I want to catch up to. I know I'm not supposed to compare but when your shelves are filled with published novels it's hard to not compare. Maybe I should burn them.

I tried listening to King's audio book again and I'm just out of it today. I don't know what's wrong with me. Even after going to the gym and socializing I still feel bad. Maybe it's because I have nothing to do. Is that the reason? I also feel like I'm rushing around a lot. When I only had a few games, I'd play them over and over until I knew them like I know my hand. Today? I have enough games to last me a life time and I'm still bored. Having this huge list of games to play wears down on me. It makes me think of my phone and all the tabs I have on my phone. I tried to exercise my issues by going to the gym but that didn't really help. I'll live a few minutes longer, extending my pain. I don't know what I want anymore.

I've decided to list the rest of my writing issues. 

I noticed that I like it when I'm high after listening to King's audiobooks. It's like this imitation high. It makes me want to write but I burn out too easily and when I do get high (not on drugs but an emotional high) I'd rather spend that energy on gaming rather than wasting it on writing. I waste the very fuel I have on gaming. I hate that. Once I'm good, I don't need God anymore, I tell him to go away so I can spend it on sinning. 

I still don't know how to freaking outline a story. If I did, I think some of my stress would melt away. Writing like this is fine because I know what's coming next. In fiction? I don't know what to do. It's like there's a block in my mind that keeps me from writing things down. I also give up too fast when I'm sitting down to write. That massive block taunts me and makes me think I'll never amount to anything. But I've been told that the quantity makes the quality. Hope that's right.

I get distracted too easily. Take today for example, I'd rather play games than practice my art. Maybe I should sell them all, that'd teach me. Then what would I do with my money? What little I have would be spent on food and books. That's a horrible idea.

I think I'm lazy. No explanation. No reason. I'm burdened with sloth. I can't keep a schedule or routine and I don't accept my own methods of writing. Like for example when I told myself I'd use each day off to write a little on Shutupandwrite. I spent the time playing. I hate myself sometimes but at least I'm getting this done. Honestyly, I didn't think this would help but some of it is. 

I told my parents the other day that I feel like an ingot in the fire being purified. Bill Johnson, the pastor I listen to, speaks about trials in that way. Is this a trial? This year of misery, is it a trial? If it is, I'm sure I'm good enough to come out of the fire now. Or maybe I put myself in there. Yesterday, I tried meditating on the word. When I was a kid, I would play CDs of the gospels and the New Testament while I was sleeping. I listened to a couple of hours last night before I turned it off. It felt like coming home. Maybe I should try that again when my inner critic launches an attack on me.


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