~cefy82

I'm watching the 2003 movie of the life of Sylvia Plath. Her life is one that I have oft examined, re-examined and deeply considered. It feels familiar. Like my pillow, carmel molebear, the open road...things that lay at the center of my comfort zone.

for the longest time, I felt like I was trapped in a cage. I felt very artistically unfulfilled, so heavily pressured...words just sqeezed out like orange juice in a press.

Now that I go to art school, and I am writing for the first time in my life, things that I really enjoy working on...its like the tap has been turned off. I sit down to write and nothing comes out. I feel my muse is missing and I am not entirely sure why it went away or how to get it back.

It's been a long time since I have been in love. the kind of completely frivolous puppy love that seemed to follow me like a curse during my career at Missouri...has entirely disappeared. It's frightening. I sort of miss the rush.

The summer seems to drag. I need some direction. i promised myself that since it appears that i am going to go jobless for the summer, that I should at least try to further my art and my writing.

This is step one on the writing portion.
Try to keep up with a journal consistently. Force thyself to write.

Get ready for a flood of updates.

As a side note...I can't manage to get the mood to change on the journal thing. If I had to make a judgement call...I'd say I am wavering between meloncholy introspection and quiet strength.