I’m sitting here; my retinas are feasting on the nutrient rich glow beaming from the LCD, yet I'm void of expression. My mouth is hanging open bearing the look of a ninety eight year old man who is unaware his balls have been hanging out of his bathing suit all afternoon.
Nonetheless, my well lit stare is anxious in its lifelessness and I know I'll be ready to spring into action the moment my pulse decides to flutter.
This could be a sign, I guess, a sign from a higher power telling me to put my writing aside and to signal in my spirituality. Perhaps my energies are to be offered to the world for healing, one living creature at a time; starting with myself?
Maybe I am destined to clutch the lifeless hands of the meek and to guide them on a path to prosperity. Yet how would I know from which path to proceed? Am I to walk with those less privileged or of desolate intellect? If so, behind what blueprint do I precede these people?
Who am I to lead, for I am just a wayward writer who himself is ever thirsting for acceptance and true understanding of one's whereabouts on the path of celebrated continuance. I am a writer who may have, just MAY have, gotten a hold of some questionable shit some years back.
Hold n a second... I do believe we have a pulse! That’s it! Let’s go with it: "Thirsting for Acceptance"!
What is it that has so many of us craving praise and approval? Why do we seek recognition with such reckless abandon? What makes Bill over there so damned confident while the rest of us continually shiver under the heavy blanket that's embroidered with "Are you sure"? To what publication must we subscribe to find the antidote for our insecurities?
I've also got to wonder if Bill ever needs the warmth of an old comforter like, "I love you." How about the support structure of a, "You are so funny!"? Think Bill ever grovels at the foot of his woman for a simple, "You are so cute”? I think not, for Bill is steadfast in his Zeus-like fortitude. This all brings me to my next question. Anyone know who the hell Bill is?
Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I suffer from intense worry, uncertainty, and the need to lure compliments. Yep, I am guilty of thirsting for praise just like so many others out there.
For instance; One night I would like to place the garbage cans at the end of the driveway, outstretch my arms, place palms to the heavens, and receive a thunderous applause.
Is turning in a well grilled fillet, besieged by orchestral accompaniment, out of the question?
Is it too much to ask for a tympani roll as I enter the bedroom? All I'm asking for here is a little support from time to time; a pat on the back if you will; a confidence booster.
Seriously though, it’s a delicate issue, the need to impress or to receive accolades. I find myself quite regularly flipping the cards in the hopes of an ace of praise. I also find myself very jealous of those who don't need such acclaim, but by the same token I wouldn't want to change who I am becoming.
The one thing I can find in all this, besides realizing I am completely befuddled, is that most entertainers, in all fields, probably feel the same need to be embraced with the warmth of admiration.
I have always found myself wanting to entertain others in some way shape or form, usually something comedic like. So I guess what I am trying to say is that I'm relatively comfortable knowing that I suffer from the habitual need for approval
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