Great. Just Great.

Fuckety fuck fuck. What the hell happened to this day? What took place that finds me here, scribbling away in the middle of the night? That huge list of things I had to do? Never pulled it out of my backpack. Didn't even roll out of bed until almost 10 in the morning. The one thing I left the house to try and do was an unqualified failure. Despite encouragement from Kittyluv and The Princess Cowgirl, nothing. Fucking nothing yet again. Wouldn't have been that hard to simply not have bothered to get out of bed at all today, for all I've managed to not get done. I could sleep right now, all I'd have to do is lay my head down and close my eyes. Surrounded by tubes of paint, colored pencils, and half finished projects, all covered with a layer of dust. Still, there seems to be a voice just whispering for me to go to sleep. There is no fire in the studio. Nothing moves me to create anything. A chisel, a brush, a pencil; all equally dead in my hand right now. Just sleeping would be so much easier. But then the dreams would eventually come. Strange, vibrant, frantic dreams. Almost as if some part of my mind is fighting for its very survival every time I close my eyes. Something on the verge of extinction, but all I want to is lay my head down for a while. I don't know what else to do while I wait to see if the magic pills will take hold again. Well, I do know what to do when I have moments like now and I realize and admit that I haven't been eating right of exercising. I know I've been pulling further away from everything. All I feel like doing is sleeping, which I know is a bad sign. Especially now that the dreams are less friendly than they have been. But maybe when I wake up from this particular nap I will have crossed the golden threshold ans some switch deep in my brain will flick on and it will all just fucking go away. Probably not. Just feeling like I'm not sinking any more would be really good. The question was posed to me today asking what's bothering me. The short list would be bills, work, no art happening, MSD leaving for good, and a really good belt of self-hatred. And when you add that all up, well gee, I'm facing the same stuff every other damn adult on the whole freakin planet deals with every goddamn day. Here I am having an internet pity party for myself when I should just man up and get stuff done. There. I pounded my chest. Macho bullshit. Never could pull it off convincingly. I heard somewhere that just going back to the point when things were working is often the best way to restart. I don't even think I know when that was. Ever. What if all this art stuff is just me trying to cram a square peg into a round hole? What if middle management is really what I was meant to do? Should I be applying myself in a cubicle instead of a studio? Yet more wasted time and missed opportunities, perhaps. Another unanswered scream into the void. Grey, troubling thoughts. I've started pulling my hair again, too, now that it's long enough for me to do so. Appetite is for shit, and I don't even feel like fucking. But, I'll get up tomorrow and go to work so I can pay my bills. Maybe that frantic screaming thing in my head will be gone. Maybe it will be louder. Either way, I don't understand what it's trying to say. Right now, it's cold in the studio, and it's almost midnight. Guess I'll post this and head off to bed. Tomorrow will be a better day.....Right?