21 I 2002 - 11:52 - trivialis18

So I got surprisingly little done last night. Which, if you know me, is perhaps not that surprising. I suffer from a plague of inflated expectations, which wouldn't be so bad if I didn't actually, well, think that it were humanly possible to do it all. So I have a badly orchestrated (ha, orchestration: what orchestra do I have?) - er, arranged - first theme for an exposition. I might be taking out the second cello because I can't really figure out what to do with it. What I need is a good orchestra to work with, except no, because there is no way in hell I'm ever going to find one, and I write badly anyway, and I can't orchestrate to save my life. At any rate, said first theme leaves me in need of: a B major second theme, a good closing theme, good transitions, a development, a recapitulation, and if my closing theme is unsatisfactory, a recapitulation, preferrably one that isn't literal.

All of this makes me want to crawl into a hole and die and maybe pull some Latin in there after me because I'll need something I enjoy in the afterlife, no? Although there is no real pressure on me to finish this trioduet that keeps fading in and out of existence in my head, a nebulous half-memory of things to come - it's only for myself but still every note is labored, which is perhaps as it should be, but oh Father you never told me it was going to be this way, not when you gave me the Hail Marys...

And how did I get here? I'm not even Catholic. My own mind scares me at times, where it goes, but apparently dulcimer and spoliaoptima have not yet been repulsed (once I read the entirety of your diaries I will put you on my list but you see I have not yet done with... what I have seen I enjoy and savor).

At stake here: sanity, feelings of self-worth. It can be claimed that neither really is, for me: it can be claimed, but it perhaps might also be refuted. I am in the position (not so peculiar, I hear) of believing that I am unworthy of almost everything but also of taking far too much pride in myself:

Again a quiz result, thank you d., but it's not that I want to seem this way. Had I not been in this state of mind I would never have taken that quiz result seriously. Some part of me doesn't, even now, but some part of me does, and that's what scares me.

What fire now can purify me? What greater force now may I give myself to?

I am sick at heart, I stutter when I should be speaking clearly, my faults increase a hundredfold; I turn my face from all sorts of faiths that if followed might bring me some greater measure of rest, of easiness within myself (the Tao was not made for nothing) and make mine own, flawed within as I am flawed...