A polite shoo shoo away to the past.
I must look forward, I tell myself everyday for the past few months, and including right now. But I cannot help but look down at the ground, where my past remains buried alive. Yes, this is going to be a bit emo, so deal with it, viewer. My mind keeps harkening back to days of languor, instigating me to yell and shout at my own past self- you left me so much work to do!!! A mountain that looked like a molehill several months ago, and now as I see it up close, it is a behemoth of a challenge. Independence from my family and local government. I need a job, a stable source of income, at least. I've avoided the daily grind and toiling for so long, that I do not have anything to build upon. I mostly want recognition in my life, and of my life. Is my own story interesting? Are the text I write interesting? Protagonists with no conflict to resolve, or who choose not to face conflict, end up being immobile, and therefore, boring. I realize that my passivity translates to my works of text, because I can't dream up active characters, or any characters, at all. Perhaps they are inconsiderate, even hostile to my viewers. As I sometimes am.
Therapy can wait.