I feel like shit. Again.
Life is a series of mountains and valleys and the lows are what makes us perceptible to human emotions of elation. But lately I’ve been treading through endless low lying wastelands of uncertainty. Where did I go wrong? Am I still on the right path?
I can’t tell anymore. I won’t admit to anything.
It’s not helpful that every waking moment, decisions have to be made about the future but also that any decision to enjoy in the present is compounded by the guilt of a chance of failure in the probable future. It’s maddening.
Yet more was and still is expected of me. Why do I feel forsaken?
I mean I know WHY. Feelings of inadequacy it seems will never fade, no matter the achievement of goals.
Hmmmm a tad bit pessimistic and pathetic? Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Dreams, dreams, dreams. Sleep now seems dearer to me than the actual livid monotony of living and it’s daily routine. It’s not boredom per se that is eating me. No. It’s the lack of freedom, this strait-jacket which cocoons my very spirit. A self-enforced exile from the very domains which grant me mirth and ecstasy for life.
What is this Art?
The sounds and visions in my head.
The craft?
A process of manifestation. A worship I cannot yet let myself indulge in.
What am I?
An aspirant. An artist amateur. More significantly a coward in every sense of the word. Unwilling to swim there where my passions run deep. Longing with endless sighs, my sacred hope, a pilgrimage through this human endeavor.
