Memorial Day, 1970 - Part 4

I have been formulating some thots - not over entirely, but elaborated upon & will try to record them. First, I was outside just now in the "down field" with Chalet & Ginger - only the 3rd or so excursion for the kitten. What she did & how she looked were so wonderful to me I felt as I always do - a deep gripping desire & need to record, describe, preserve - for any other realistic critical eye - whatever for, whomever comes along, I do not know.

And I am getting more progressively more withdrawn. Silent, anxious, shy, & most of all inexpressive - part of the same cynicism as alone causes this, but also it stems from increasing inadequacy or feeling thereof. I realized today that my lack of confidence in my mental worth, in my judgments of almost everything, in my ability to hold the interest of anyone for any length of time, is causing me more & more to avoid talking, speaking up, relating experiences.

I cover subjects only in the most superficial manner & in my effort to get out of the limelight quickly, to finish swiftly I become even more uninteresting - it's viscious, progressive & contagious, burning with each painful, uncomfortable experience. And so, in the same vein, because this same shallowness, weakness of character & confidence, I cannot & do not write to any extent or in any depth. I have long wondered how authors can fill whole books - how they can write in such tiny steps toward the ultimate, distant goal, their conclusion. I have a good latest vocabulary, but my poor self confidence puts such stricture on every aspect of my human performance as to practically totally incapacitate me. Why can I not have the tenacity of mind & character that would allow me to write or I would wish to. Even now - I am wrong of writing thus --