Still in a Brontë kind of mood.

Im so frustrated, and on the verge of giving up. Except I know I can't give up, and I don't even want to, so I sit here and continue trying to force ideas out of my head that I could translate into sentences and paragraphs which are much easier to edit and craft when they exist in the first place. Im stuck, and it's driving me nuts. It's not just the inevitable and commonplace writer's block, but more than that - almost a lack of the courage to write. Why is that part of my mind holding back? What reason on earth do I have for being afraid to put something down - when I don't even have a coherent 'something' to write in the first place? Im even more irritated by being so confused about myself. I'm me, you'd think I would get it.

I guess I do kind of get it, sort of. I know part of where the lack of courageous enthusiasm is coming from, but it still doesn't seem to match up with everything, and theres no obvious solution telling me, "fix this and then it'll be okay".

I bet this makes no sense whatsoever, and every time I write something like this I will usually copy it into a document and delete it from my page, so it can still exist, just in my own little corner. But I don't feel like it. (the lack of enthusiasm is morphing into laziness. I hate that.)

I wonder where this desire for self expression comes from. Why do I want to write this all out, and keep it somewhere (even if no one else would see it)? Most other people don't really care what you are thinking, even if occasionally they do enjoy satisfying their curiosity by hearing your thoughts, or feeling affirmed that they can identify with your position and that they are not the only ones who feel that way. But why this urge to explain and display the inner workings of your mind? I wonder I wonder.