Here’s the problem. I don’t know when to start. Nobody does. An electron fires in your brain, a lump sags in your gut, and new idea is born. Ever ask someone, hey, why did you do that? Or, What made you do this? Often they’ll say, eh, I don’t know I just wanted to, or I had a feeling, or it’s what I was trying to do all along.
My abilities pale to my desires. Maybe it’s patience. Patience to let my desires catch up to my ability. Self-defeating impatience is another feeling that I remember having as a child. In elementary school, sitting at my metal desk, I wanted to draw the greatest thing ever; sliding into second base in my backyard. This was possibly the greatest experience I knew. I went to work with my pencils and crayons on a piece of brown construction paper.
The image glistened in my mind, exciting me. I wonder now how long I actually worked, but when I stopped to look, itwas wrong. Weak determination in the face of the second basement. The smug look and acrobatic limbs of the runner was just goofy and childish. I was childish. I wanted so bad for it to be good, a reflection of the perfect details I imagined. I could only think of the frustration and my inelegant hands. I gave up. �
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