Sometimes I find myself missing… well… myself.
I don’t ever have the urge to draw or write anymore… I don’t do as MUCH artsy fartsy (as this Dude likes to call it) shit as I used to, and sometimes it makes me a bit nostalgic.
But I’m growing up, and crafting now plays second to homework and work work.
*rolls eyes* That’s an excuse, though, isn’t it?
If art is something that I love as much as I believe and claim I do, then I should find ways to be with her.
I just finished reading a novel by Kinky Friedman (as recommended to me by my friend Dwayne) entitled Kill Two Birds and Get Stoned… and it reminded me that I need to get off my ass and start living my art again.
The protagonist of the novel, Walter Snow–an author with seven years worth of writer’s block–meets two gypsies who encourage him to get out of his daily routines of coffee, fighting with his toaster, and watching the feet of passersby (he lives in a basement apartment in new york, “the only place where you can’t see where the rain comes from”) and to live an interesting life worth writing about. While Walter’s writing picks up, the three of them spiral deeper and deeper into a story worth rereading multiple times with a bittersweet–more bitter than sweet–ending that will have your jaw on the floor.
This novel has shown me–however inadvertently–that to get back into my art and to feel like my “old self”, I need to live my days again and not just to get through them.
I have become complacent in my daily routine, which hasn’t particularly allowed for me to enjoy anything other than the simple shit I do to get by day after day.
Where’s the fun in routines?
Often, as we get older, we get caught in doing the things that get us through the day, and not enjoying the day for what it is.
Inspiration is lost, and we slowly smother the voices of our muses and become boring drones.