A Writer's Notebook, Day Seven-Hundred-And-Forty

 I want to begin pushing myself to write more poems again.  I've been writing only a few a day for a long while now, and I think it might be good for me to get back to a more involved schedule.  I don't want my current frustration to keep me from getting more written, and I have to hope that channeling some of that energy into the work  will be fruitful.  I know it will not really change things, and that it does not really alleviate any of the sense of failure I've had, or at least has failed to in the past, but it is still a gesture of optimism, and it is significant, if only as a signal to myself, that I remember I still have not quit, that some part of me is still taking the actions that are congruent with what I want.  It is hard to not fall into the same cycle of thought again and again, but I can at least look towards my work and see that I am still doing what I need to, even if it is not meriting me anything.  If only I could see that without feeling that their was a pain in the futility of it, but even as I recognize my own hope, my current mood inclines me to mock and dash it, so I am best, perhaps, attempting to just allow the idea of taking action and what it represents to stand without attempting any further contemplation.

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