Whip

I feel like my job has killed off all of my creative drive.

Not sure if it’s the job, or if it’s just middle-aged doldrums, or if it’s just physical, mental, and emotional fatigue. Haven’t made music in 3 years, maybe 4. Don’t write anymore. Don’t draw. Don’t even carry my paper journal, and that’s a shame, really. A damnable shame. It’s like my internal life is on mute, muffled under pillows to suffocate and die. Can’t possibly be healthy.

I know I want to write and create. I know I have the time after hours to do so, but where is the motion? Where is the push over the hump? Where’s the Muse to help me overcome the inertia of standing still when all I really want to do after work is rest, think about something else (or nothing at all), and try to recover? I mean, do I really have anything to say that anybody really wants to hear?

So the obvious cure is to write, and draw, and play, and be, like, not dead inside, right? Is that how it works? Can I force it? I dunno. But when I figure out the answer to my impending irrelevance, I’ll let you know, OK?

Published by Shawn

He's just this guy, you know?