I keep trying to force myself to write. I figure, if I keep just pushing out all of this dribble, then eventually something good has to come as well. Every time I seem to catch my wind however, something knocks me over and pushes me back to the start. I feel I need to finish Screnzy this month. I have to win. I have to get to that one hundred page mark. Just to prove to myself that I can. That I can do something. That I can finish something. That I can keep promises to myself. That I can still write. Every time I try to put pen to paper or hand to keyboard, my thoughts fail and I find myself falling into a wordless void where there is only a blank sheet of paper staring at me, taunting me, saying that I will never have what it takes to fill it up with black words that would give it meaning.

I'm not a dancer; I'm not a singer. I'm a musician who's meant to keep her ass firmly in seat and her mouth firmly closed. When I perform, only my fingers move. I can't do this hip-bopping, fancy step work. I don't do choreography. I honestly have trouble walking while doing something else. My mind can only focus on one thing at a time without suffering from a break down. Being in choir this semester has done nothing but prove that I am meant to express my music through the violin. The only time I can manage to sing the proper notes or rhythms or style is when I'm thinking and relating it all to the violin. But I'm too much of a poor, daddy-complex suffering coward. I put it down; now I'm scared to pick it up. I practiced because I wanted my dad to hear it and see how much I loved it; he's not here anymore. Even if I were to cross those two hurdles, playing the violin is just too expensive. If I were to start playing now, I would need new strings within three months. Preferably sooner. I would need to get my bow re-haired within six. Preferably sooner. I can't afford these things. The up keep involved with my instrument is simply too expensive. So I resort to the next best thing. My voice is free. I enjoy singing, but I'm no singer. I'm sick of seeing the judging looks on people's faces as I flail about miserably and pathetically. I can make beautiful music, just not in the way they can.

Everything that could go wrong did go wrong yesterday. Somehow, it was still a great day. Today should have been perfect, but somehow it has left me feeling even more inadequate. I want to cry, but even there I fail. Tears won't come. I feel like if I could just cry and have a break down, I could move on and get over these feelings, but the tears just won't come. I tried calling someone today. Someone who has always called me when she needed a shoulder, and someone for whom I've dropped many things mid-project to help. She didn't answer. The most depressing part of it was, after I heard her mobile go to voice mail, realizing I never expected her to answer anyways. Sometimes, having people meet your expectations is the most disappointing thing of all.