rant, tear, cry, rant

Mid week and I've got a few things on the horizon and a dump truck of rocks following behind me.

I've been listening to Sidney Poitier's Measure of a Man and there is a section where he describes his mother's work on Cat Island. She would drag rocks of all weights--10 lbs, 20 lbs, 50 lbs-- and stack them into a ceiling-high pile. Once she was finished with her mountain of a pile, she would take a hammer and crush these rocks until she had gravel. Then after months of crushing and breaking these stones, men in trucks would come and barter for her pile, then shovel it onto their truck and drive away.

Mr. Poitier made my pile feel very light and small. My plight is fierce though.

I am an extremely hard worker, but I often mis-focus my goal. Or at least it feels that way. I have had to build other things first, my nest, my home, my love, before I could focus head on. But still I have trouble zooming in to capture what my heart desires most. I turn my head to look at jobs & income & how to keep earning. And I turn my head to the other side and I see radio & books & music. I cannot fit myself into a one-trade-suit.
And I've always been this way. I could never just be satiated with plays, I had to involve myself with WMPG. And I had to write for the literary magazine. And I had to learn to surf. And I had to paint and draw. I thought about going to school for visual art, until I realized I cannot be solitary for too long, and so I sauntered into an acting conservatory in Boston.
I get so mad at myself for navigating in a loopy, zig-zagged way. I seem to unconsciously know how to feed myself artistically, which is to sample a little bit of everything, and still discover I don't know how to book-bind, or explain what gouache is in a competent way, or sail a 420 like I used to. So I have trouble with that question: What do you do best above all other things? Well, I can do a lot of things pretty well, but I don't know if I have a best...yet.