sweet caffeinated release
i keep trying to find 'highs' in things. life coffee: i drink hoping to feel a zing but all i get is my nervous system vibrating under my skin while still feeling tired. lacking creativity.
i haven't drawn in a millennia. i think i forgot how. i've also got this 30" tall being at home that won't let me pull out a book without wanting to destroy the pages.
but that's not an excuse. what is? maybe because i'm not fueled by the cynicism anymore, the self loathing, the drugs (let's be frank) and i feel like i needed all those things to be creative
i think about what anne lamott said in her interview with duncan trussel during the midnight gospel:
"I felt terror that if i stopped drinking, I would never write again because I needed the misery. Because I needed that edge. And I needed the shame and I needed the raging sick ego. And I felt that without those, I wouldn’t be sufficiently crazy enough to even be funny anymore. But that’s one of the lies of the disease and of the ego, that if you’re well, if you’re happy, the jig’s up."
one of the lies of the disease. yeah, makes sense. it's strong, it's still a voice that creeps around your brain, even after all these years, saying 'you need this'. you fight it every day. even old heads with 20 years under their belt will never not say they're addicts.
one day at a time, i suppose.
















