i thought i had it.

and now i've lost it. not completely. not really. but still... i skim the edges of it when i start something new, when my fingers glide of the the jumble of bumps, spikes, smoothness of inspiration. then i see where i used to be: riding high on tangible reality of my talent, of my ability. not now though. now i feel like an idiot. like an ant in the horde of ants, indistinguishable. nearly useless and certainly nothing special. i question everything in my late night dismal decline. sleep beckons, and quitting does, too. i'm getting good at that. quitting. giving up. i have no patience, i have no will power to push through the uncomfortable, i think i'm better than it, i think i deserve more, but do i? am i really greater than those i leave behind? the only thing that separates us is my ability to quit. my ability to say 'fuck you. fuck this.' and that deserves no admiration, despite those that give it to me as i walk out the door. is this the rest of my life? my frustration, my arrogance ruling my life? or will i learn to give in, will i break to others' will and 'fit in' and thereby be happy. is that it? or do i cling to the foolhardy who say, 'yes!' and push through these late night declines. maybe this? sleep beckons.