I’m drained. There doesn’t seem to be enough energy or hours in the day for me to dedicate to life and my artistic needs. I feel tired, dejected, and insecure, which, as you can imagine, does not do much for the fires of creativity. When I do manage to get those juices flowing, I’m rusty. The craft becomes pulling teeth and I quickly become disheartened.
I seen now why people quit. Why they say “to hell with my dreams!” It feels like every week I wonder if I would be happier giving up and spending my life consuming the arts rather than contributing. After all, who am I to think I have anything to add?
But something keeps me from giving up on that dream. I’m not sure I know why, or even if it’s wise. But this too will pass. I will make it to the other side of his funk and when I do my dreams will be there waiting for me. They’ve gotten me through a lot of dark times, never once abandoning me. So I suppose it’s only right I show them the same respect.