I need progress. I need to feel that I am moving in a forward motion. I am not good with stagnation or respite. I crave the whoosh of completion.
This is the reason I’ve been grouchy lately. Grouchy, uninspired, silent, bored and generally pissy.
A few months ago, my mother, a generally wise and helpful individual said to me, “Why do you always have to be doing? Why not take the next year and just do nothing, make no decision, make no plans. Just enjoy being.”
At the time I thought, “She’s right. I’m a maniac. I should just chill.” However, this chilling is leaving me feeling cold. I’ve lost my imagination. My creativity seems locked in ice. Yet, my environment does not reflect this northerner. It’s hot, sweltering, which does nothing to improve my mood.
Often when I get this way, I look outside myself to fill the void: alcohol, food, men — not necessarily in that order. Usually, these surrogates do nothing to fuel my creative soul. Like a catch-22, never refilling, only depleting and repeating the same stagnation.
To prevent any further anesthetization on my part I’ve decided I need a summer project — something that takes effort, but can be completed — something that will give me a product to hold in my hands by the end of the summer.
With my imagination stinted, I am still not sure what this project will be. Perhaps a series of short stories, a regiment of summer reading, a collection of new paintings or a collaborative project with other creatives.
I’m not sure, but it must come to me soon or I may have to do something drastic, like shave my head and live on the beach.
