Once again I'm cornered by competent people
I can feel their confidence and conviction bore into my weaknesses
I'm jealous
because that's all I want too
To be guided by a blinding faith or passion, even for a short split second
Just enough for a decision to be made and an action to be taken
And I can't get over the insincerity of art
To process the act of living into a tangible language--it's almost sacrilegious.



I had my first life drawing class last week
The first time I've drawn anything in years to be honest
And I was met by towering drawing boards twice the size of me, armored by smug white sheets of paper
But I think I was fine,
because drawing brainlessly, dispassionately and pointlessly is probably right up my alley
I've lived my life half dead for so long, just give me something to do.
Quarter-life crisis
Duh