Thursday, March 14, 2002

I'm sticking to painting and talking to my inner circle (of 2). There's really no point in talking; everyone's fed up/exhausted/overworked and they have their own life to worry about without me too. Does that negate what I feel? No, but if I try to talk about it and all I hear is a laundry list of how busy everyone else is I just don't see the point. I'm just a statistic, or even worse, I'm turning into some kind of cliché. I hate clichés. Why do I even bother writing about this? Because (a) it's what I feel, and (b) I think it's important to see that incredibly talented, creative, motivated (and modest!) people have slumps and frustrations too. It would be lovely if I had no responsibilities and could spend the whole day in the park with some chalk, or painting, or reading, thoughts just flowing out of my head like a faucet: but that's just not real life. I'd probably also be incredibly boring and wouldn't be able to identify with anyone either. So for now I'll stick to the painting.

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