A fresh page. I suppose it could be intimidating if I were writing for real. I see the TV images of real writers focused on a blank page. It used to be a literal blank sheet of paper in a typewriter. Now it is a blank page on a computer screen most often (as it is here.) I am listening to one of my favorite musical artists, Epica. The lead singer is so very versatile (and gorgeous.) Her classically trained voice stirs my soul such that I can lose myself in the music. I could close my eyes and just listen to song after song.
I am listening to it now because this genre helps me to work when my energy is at a low ebb. Somehow listening increases my drive and determination (at least for a little while.) I am afraid of relying on it too much, but I love the feeling with which I am imbued as I absorb the sound, mood and emotions of this artist's performance.
So that isn't what I logged on to talk about. It does help me start to fill the page, though. I'm not so intimidated anymore. On the other hand this is probably just as, if not more, interesting than what is really eating at me. I'm just in despair again. Not doing anything and thoroughly acknowledging that I will die as a result of my inaction. Mental confusion over why I have wound up like this, and despair at being unable (seemingly but not actually) to do anything about it. I know that God wouldn't leave me here if I really wanted to change, so I know that I don't really want to serve God. Not because I can feel that deliberate rebellion in my heart, rather because if I did want to serve God, I would be a different person. My brother, dad and mom will be so disappointed when I am not there in paradise. My despair will reach its zenith as I watch death approaching, at God's hand. Likely a painful and violent death, that I will have time to consider as it approaches for days possibly even weeks. I guess I would want a few minutes to process it. I doubt it will be so quick though. I imagine I will realize the loss of all hope days or weeks before it comes.
I keep thinking that when I do come to that realization that I will cease the wickedness that drove me to that precipice. This will, of course, be driven partially or even largely because I want God to reconsider. I do hope that some altruistic notion remains such that even though I know my life is lost, I would want my final moments to be good ones, not filled with a hurry to drink the pleasures a last dollop of wickedness may afford. I don't believe that would even be an option. I imagine, believe, I will die largely alone, in pain and with the crushing burden of knowing that there is no longer any hope, that the final end will hurt, a lot and with all worldly pleasure totally gone and meaningless. I imagine the last moments of my life will be in agonizing pain and mental torment. The fact that others, the ex, the kid, the sibling, will survive, if indeed they do, will be of small comfort as I believe that the then current suffering will such a recollection impossible. How can you consider anything as you are dying from radiation poisoning, ebola virus, or being hunted by wild animals, human or otherwise.
This is what I think about in calm moments. No joy. I tried buying presents for myself. It just doesn't work at all anymore. Maybe this is what is driving me to spend thousands for a positive and pleasant evening. If it weren't for the IRS, and my attendant stupidity, I would do it in a heartbeat. (And then I wonder why God won't shine his light on me, not to say that he hasn't.)
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