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Hanging on the Telephone... 13 December 2004 4 18:19 I think I may be having a panic attack. Everything has seemed so incredibly dark, lately. Maybe it's the weather; maybe it's the City; maybe it's the season. I just can't seem to see the sun, literally or figuratively. I've come to the City. I'm doing at least SOME of what I'm supposed to be doing. But in this town where there is so much to be done, it is not nearly enough. It's as though things have progressed to a certain point and are now stalled. This is unbearable. I am awaiting further instructions. I am also realising that the world is a frighteningly small place. I am, apparently, regularly rubbing elbows with (and have, without realising it, slept with!) varying magnitudes of celebrities. I sometimes work with some of them. They all SEEM to like me. Why am I not doing more of what I should be doing? Why do I always feel so fucking inadequate? Why do compliments always ring false in my ears? Why do I always feel as though everyone is merely humouring me? Why am I never happy, never even remotely satisfied, always alone and lonely? Why do I vacillate between thinking I absolutely unredeemably suck and feeling I really might have or be something GOOD? Why am I so fucking neurotic? My shyness is an obstacle; I love the spotlight, but I often feel it like a deer or a rabbit must feel the headlamps of an oncoming vehicle. I know that I am not "putting myself out there" enough, focusing, observing, learning, creating pursuing. I could pretend confidence...I could BE confident if I allowed myself to do so, but then, I would fear having too MUCH confidence, appearing to be an unjustifiedly overly self-assured ass, which would create an even greater obstacle. Obviously, I'd rather be viewed as the sort-of cute, quiet, shy, pensive, potentially brilliant boy in the corner, rather than being the jackass whom no one can stomach, but I'm terrified that I already AM that latter person. And yet...People who are FAR from talent-free, with much better resumes than my own, ask me to coach them. Why can't I follow my own fucking advice? Put down the whip; if you're using one hand to whip yourself, you only have one hand free with which to do something productive. Oh, God... We're waiting... r Last Dispatch - Next Dispatch