Impotent.

Can impotent be a feeling? A state of mind? Not just a sexual dysfunction? 'Cause I'm kinda feeling that way. The pipes are working, it's just the brain that's feeling limp and lifeless. I don't know, when your being revolves around something you're currently incapable of performing, it kinda gets you down.  Makes me feel like a waste of a human being.

Been hacking away at another idea for a script over the last month or two. A self imposed deadline for a first draft of a half hour short is about two weeks away, and I only scribbled out maybe three usable pages. Traveled to my usual spot today in hopes of churning a few more out, but only got through about half a page of the usual wrote and tired dialogue between the main character and a potential love interest before realizing that this was the crap I was trying to avoid. More of the same tripe. Ugh. Now I want to toss this idea in the trash, it's going nowhere. It would be the third script I've ditched in the last year, since I finished that feature length one that I wrote in two weeks and ended up hating.

Hating everything that your hands create, doubting every step. Makes you want to stop walking. Lying in bed doing nothing sounds like an easy life. Why can't I do that for a few years?

Feeling really useless right now. I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I've practically resigned myself to the fact that I'm not going to have a normal life. Forever alone and all that. It gets lonely sometimes, but more than that it's like I have no purpose. I admire the 99% of Americans doing the nine to five, living life the only way they know how. Sure, a third of the day is given to the man, and another third is devoted to sleep, but the third left over? That's freedom right there. Not just economic freedom, but a mental freedom. You're reasonably assured a stable couple of decades.

Meanwhile, what the fuck am I doing aside from wasting time? Spending time in front of a blank page, wanting to destroy the pen in my hand out of frustration of not being creative enough to create anything. Or succumb to urges of substance abuse, but being too chicken-shit to even do that. Just end up pacing around for hours, thinking about entering that bar but coming up with a hundred and one excuses to do anything but. I'll do it tomorrow.

Today was a waste, I'll do everything tomorrow.