We Need Comfort from This Run Down Place

I can’t wait to be productive, organized and prolific this year. And I’m motivated, if anything… although I wish I could easily vomit out my emotions through art. It’d be easier to keep my erratic emotions at check. I’m not inspired though. Or rather I’m not inspired by the good things people are usually inspired from. Although I’m sure my drawings and lame attempts at painting with ink will reveal themselves. (I was supposed to insert the word ‘hopefully’ at the end of the sentence—‘hopefully’ is not good enough). Apply my mind, theories, know how I just want to work, do what I want, master my intuition—I should. And discipline too. I need this.

I don’t want to be a baggage—a burden to myself or to anyone.

I’m taking a break from the tedious job of gathering data about international nursing organizations and whatnot. For a while I’ve been blazing through anything that would get me drawing properly but my hands are shaky, I can’t find the light, where the black shadows should cast itself on the naked figures on paper and has it always been this restrictive? Let me go again and search for my show-stopper, game changer, my one of the kind, the One Ring from LOTR, magic, my jolt of electricity, my Excalibur, the light of the rooms of my life.

Nutella on a spoon—a surprising balm to the lazy and paralyzed thoughts. I’m thinking that after all these is the hardest way to make an easy living. And then I’m blazing through the noosphere on anything that would keep me from missing people too easily. Even if they’re near. Why are we so busy?

I am so strong. I am so weak.

No room for any excuses. Focus, here now. Don’t let plans or anything go awry by my messy hands.

Break over.

Relief.

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