So much for passion.

"All man's troubles come from not knowing how to sit still in one room." - Blaise Pascal

The rough, cheap carpet molds my fleshy skin into a patchwork of hives. My legs spread akimbo with my iPhone in hand, taking pictures of them via Instagram. I had just finished sorting dirty and clean laundry. For three hours.

Is air-drumming to ‘Last Friday Night’ the life of an artist? Is wishing to be Don Drapers new female, touch-me-not client at Sterling Cooper part of the dreamy, dazed artistic mind?

I left everything incomplete today. I drifted past my Coca-Cola painting a few times before my 2pm breakfast. I saw a centipede-like bug in the upstairs washroom last night, so I’ve refused to clean up.

Inexplicably, I lie here dazed and sweating, with a bare state of mind. I preach to myself – everyday – that today is my last. I call myself an artist. I call myself a writer. Yet, I find myself lying down on my back.  I feel.

Stuck.

Maybe I’m in a self-made purgatory.

I need an excise plan – goals, statements, declarations, anything! to get me out of this slump, I figure.

Bovine

“How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.” - Yeats

I said I would read but my room smells like pizza and pomegranate soda, so obviously that deterred me.

Though, I do not hold contempt for the universe, I sigh. My guilt remains partly intact and my tiresome vetting of others has proved to be hassling. I still enjoy seeking the next thrill, of course. It certainly helps with the recovery. I tell myself I have to move onto the next thing. Something or someone better, worth my time. If I do not, my hope and positivity gets blown away like dust in the wind. Company helps, sometimes it doesn’t. Evidently, I’ve grown accustomed to this pattern.

One thing that I wonder about is how I will look back. Should I be wary of a problem grabbing hold of my ankles like a sea monster? I’ve gotten myself into some sticky shit.

Now, back to reading.

Banana Guard

“If you do not raise your eyes you will think you are the highest point.” - Antonio Porchia

Here’s to the full four months of stupidity I have unleashed unto this world. Here’s to the naivety that I mistook for happiness and optimism. Cheers, New Year, to the happy-go-lucky attitude that I adopted – which only produced a hole for me to sit in. And yes, I had the cojones to call upon others to throw me a hand and pull me out.

While no regrets have been spewed as of yet, it is fully comforting to connect the nodes – to see it [the problems] as they really are. Nothing, I find, is as satisfying and as grueling all at once.

On the other hand, I am concerned that I am having less and less moments like these. I am now treading in adult territories and I won’t have little crises to keep me on track every week. Adults are their own compass and sometimes, you don’t find out if you’re going the wrong direction until a long while after when there is little water left in that flask to save you.  I no longer have age or inexperience to blame. Life only gets more complicated as I grow older. There are more connections to more people. I can no longer just have two feet for myself. One foot for me. One foot for them.

That said, I have yet to fully comprehend the depth of the unchartered territories I went in with. I am unhappy to say it was done with a stumbling stupor. I knew I was being unkempt, foolish even but I was relentless. I couldn’t bring myself to really think about things in the long-term and I was taken advantage of. Repeatedly. I just wanted to be a “grown-up” and skip away like a happy flower child. Fucking hippies aren’t around for a reason.

I needed this self-realization for four long months and it makes me wonder where I’ve headed. It’s frightening.