itchy fingers, itchy palms

i want to keep inhaling and in and in and in until it can't help but explode. i want to learn new things except for where it will be hard and painful and there will be gallons of sweat and ounces of blood and several million tears. i want to be brilliant and perfect and amazing and loved and worshiped and astounded and everything but only if you give it to me on a silver platter. but i'm going to learn how to write if it's the last thing i do. for me and for the people who will enjoy the stories i manage to pull out of my brain, with tweezers and forceps and microscopes until i can make it flow and work and make them believe. and that will be my contribution to this world. hardly anyone will ever read my stories, but those who do will remember and it will make for me a place in the afterlife.