Back Again.

To start again is what scares me. As long as I don’t look at it, I can convince myself of its worth and believe that at some far away date, I will finish, and it will be everything I ever expected and more. But to sit down and open up that file and again, and begin the process of beginning again, that makes me take a serious look at what I actually have in my hands, and the next step is even harder: picking words like apples hoping none of them are rotten and will spoil the rest.
The hours I’ve spent working on it are a weight in my stomach making me sick worrying that I’ve wasted them all, those hours. But won’t I have wasted them if I go no further than all the pieces lying on the floor waiting for me to sew them together into something beautiful rather than some disjointed Frankenstein’s monster that I’ve made making a mess of all those perfect parts? Fear of failure is worse than failure because your fear and only your fear is the reason for your failure letting inaction become the deciding factor. Fuck it. I’ve begun again. There is no other option. Progress has been halted for so long because of other things. Now that I have the time, I will put those 2 years behind me, and make something out of it, or fuck it up. Damned if I care. I have no right to complain anymore if I don’t do something.