Of course, if I actually DO write any of it down, and remember to save it and remember where I saved it to, or where I put the notebook or what have you..I do come back and read it. Usually the next day.
And all I can think is..I should have listened to my mother and become an accountant. What the hell was I thinking? This is *crap.* This is craptacular crap. This is crap that has been *concentrated* and *distilled*. It is truly extraordinary.
When I have finished deleting, and weeping, and I can't deny those little germs of ideas that come creeping back, or I start to write again, something I rarely finish, because my brain is so much faster than my hands..I think..if only I could find a way to break through all these restraints I put on myself and write, really write something *good*.
You know..I think if I had someone there with me to give me a mild concussion at that point, much emotional effort would be saved.