Thursday, May 25, 2006
Deadlines loom, and although I feel a vestigial anxiety about them, there's really nothing I can do. I can't work fast enough to finish my beloved monster (tentatively titled: Violets and Roses) by June 7th, so any concern I might feel is completely wasted here. Yet the stomach cramps still come, and I do not sleep at night, don't even feel tired despite my complete lack of stimulants. I feel empty, though, as if I am racing towards a void - waiting to be swallowed up by nothing at the end. I work, but I work slowly, at times passionate about my project, then merely overwhelmed. Who am I impressing? What is my audience? My audience is unknown, or if taken literally, a handful of friends. What do you do when your goal seems so intimidating, yet so abstract?
I am not hungry, but I eat at mealtimes. I am not tired, but I eventually force myself to sleep. Yet I am happy, too, and content. I am at ease, merely confused in the bargain.