I am finally on the mend. My right ear infection migrated to the left and left me in bed for over a week. While I was recouping, someone I thought was a good friend lied and stole from me. I ended a friendship of over two years on Monday over selfishness and greed.
I’ve come to the conclusion I’m too old to put up with this shit.
I’m feeling extremely overwhelmed as of late which is leaving my creative ambitions dry and difficult to grasp. I am finding no joy in creating anything. This is life, I suppose, it has it’s ups and downs. I feel as though I’ve walked into the Doldrums and lost my map on how to escape.
The only writing I’ve been doing has been sporatic at best and choppy at worst. I’ve done a little research into a story line I thought of and dropped about six months ago that suddenly called to me last week. I figured some writing was better than none at this point and got down over four thousand words that afternoon then abandoned it until today where I’ve added nearly another thousand.
So now I have four stories between 5,000 and 40,000 words. Which is furthering my depression. I’m questioning my ability to finish anything and without finishing anything I’ll never truly be a writer. I’ll be a putzer, putzing around with a calling that I’m too lazy and flighty to see though. Going through my life never accomplishing that which I long for and will die unfulfilled in everything except failure.
There are those internal demons again.