I give up trying to predict the future. Lots of us don’t get what we want when we want it. People learn to accept reality for what it is. I accept how things are for me as they appear. The tough part for me is to let it be without letting it throw me off my game. There’s a way to remain calm and carry on. Hell that was an English phrase from, uhhhhh. WWII? I dunno since when it came to be although for sure it came from England.

I admit that I’m not entertaining the audience. I have one person in the audience right now and it’s freaking me out. From the stage this person isn’t visible. I have no clue who he or she or they is/are. Freaks me out because this person remains a stranger. I don’t understand. It’s awkward for me because this person keeps silent. What do I do for this stranger? Do I know this person? I guess he/she/they doesn’t want me to know jack shit about who they are or what they think about my work. The mature response is no response at all. I do the mature thing by re-directing my focus to my work. It could be a different person each time I post. My performance comes down to how well I perform. How well I do or if I even perform is on me. To give away my focus because the audience freaks me out, is again, on me. I make me, or I break me.

Right now I’m just staying above water so I don’t drown. As tempted as I might think throwing away my life would be a good idea, I somehow won’t do it. I continue to tread water because I in fact do not want to freely throw my life away.

I don’t always trust what I think I should do or say. Sometimes I deceive myself and write too much. I also screw myself over with irrelevant posts and tweets. Even if it’s not because people think I’m lost, it’s something. This is another major challenge I face. Without much feedback I struggle to know how to best mix things up so that my work comes across as viable art worth their support.

People either don’t want to support me or they don’t know how. Either way the pure truth is the minimum support hurts on an extreme level. I think the universe wants to see if it can destroy me. Because I do see some support, not much, but some. This support does make a difference. The support I get does help me push onward with my work. It’s like my tank is near empty. There are no gas stations I can reach before my tank is bone dry. Then I’ll be without a ride to travel from place to place. My only option at that point is to walk. Got dang it. This just keeps getting worse and worse.

One audience member. Little support, sometimes zero support. Things continue to get worse. Yet here’s another sentence. Of course it’s irrelevant! This might be the worst I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Only one thing looks like it might happen. I just might get a short story I wrote published, by an indy publishing press. I’m super excited at the possibility of publication in an anthology.

It’s still not easy to maintain a positive state of mind. I’ll do my best to be positive. I’m really depressed though. Either way I’m giving it the old college go.

That’s it. It matters less and less, each time I see one person in the audience. That’s it? And this person won’t say a word about my performing? It now matters less than before I saw…Yet again… One person. Ya know whoever you are it’s not cool to act like God is. God, supernatural beings, are allowed to be silent. They get a pass since they are supernatural. You’re not supernatural, in case you forgot. Maybe this person is delusional. Great. The one person in the crowd also has delusions. Now do you understand why I really think the universe is trying to put me six feet under?

Well, try to see why I feel the way I do. I observe this, and the pain seems excruciating.

There’s got to be something keeping me afloat. Not a physical object but some unseen force. Whatever it is, something refuses to let me die in the ocean by myself. There’s a reason I’m not dead yet. For some reason I must have important shit I have yet to bust a move on. And this, is the only reason I’m still at it today. Back again to write some more.