Found this jotted on a notebook from 2010 I had completely forgotten about. Four years later, I think impatience is just another excuse for lack of discipline.
Yes, lack of speed is a challenge. The dyslexia that comes from thinking ahead of the words you’re writing is a challenge. But isn’t the ability to work your thoughts into words – with all the time that takes to sculpt – the whole point?
It does not come easily because it comes too fast. You can see it in my letters, stumbling on top of each other because some “a” or “s” wants to appear before its time. ‘Is it not done yet? When’s my turn?’ I must have known another space where movements were faster, or where you’d only need to think words into paper. I am not used to this world where you can regurgitate ideas and thoughts into life. Ideas, so abstract in nature, that are nothing without action. That will make you prove your worth and grant you praise – or, at least, immortality – only after labour. I know my ideas too well without letting them come through imperfect. So I linger and add and amend and travel back & forth to ensure perfection. And some limb or another always gets lost along the way. Too impatient for my own perfectionism.