Currently sitting in my room, about to eat some green medicated chocolate, drinking hard root beer, and smoking more green medication on top of the bit I’m eating while watching a Sinatra documentary on HBO.
Still fumbling around. Still looking for a voice.
There are so many stories to lay out, and ways to do it, but I can’t seem to get them out in a suitable fashion. Well, suitable to me anyway. My mom has been after me since I was a teenager to write a book about What The Fuck I Am™ (which I suppose shows exactly how alien I am), so, better late than never? Well, it might still be never if it keeps on this way.
I’ve been stopped up for a while. I’ve been an artist of assorted varieties my whole life, so it’s a big deal when I become creatively blocked. The last time I was this blocked I got divorced. Well, let me rephrase, I left what would then be my ex-husband.
I’m in no where near the same situation as I was then, but it seems to be just as large as the last one. Life is a much different landscape today than it was when I left Normal Life™. I have a partner worth having, who I adore and who adores me, as well as loves me genuinely. I have a job I like, with a company I love, doing something I’m actually good at and not just something I can do and happen to do better than the other people who are standing around. I’ve become a somewhat known and at least showing artist, with legit art shows and gallery hangings with an actual following.
So why can’t I find a voice?
[11pm]
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