I’ve begun to notice I haven’t been doing a lot of writing lately. Mostly, I’ve been losing brain cells hovering over alcohol inks and staring at computer screens. I have problems being consistent with creativity. I jump and skip from platform to platform until I have to hibernate under the stack of quilts on my bed to bring the dopamine meter back to base. Art is a drug; or maybe, the drug is the inflated magic carpet ride I take when the pride of creating something I’m interested exploring.
Maybe I’m not a writer. Flexing this muscle is less appealing to me now than exercising visual skills.
OR MAYBE I’M JUST ALWAYS TIRED, EXTREMELY AMBITIOUS, YET GENERALLY UNMOTIVATED.
















