For the past 10 days I haven’t posted, read, written anything but copy at work nor been able to think straight. Fuck. Love.
It should be there to support you but when you open yourself up wider than any time before and let out an effort reserved for that special someone without her reciprocating anything worthy back, it’s time to switch gears. You lost it, buddy.
It made me realise that without any end goals to your work, the drive to create is directionless. And when that drive has slowed to a pathetic crawl instead of a turbo-boosted sprint, you’re going nowhere fast. Ideas don’t form because your head is a miasma of emotions that cut into you like jagged glass. It’s the worst type of suffocation.
So, to fix it – let it out! I let it. the. fuck. out. Now, I’m here writing this to you. It’s the best medicine for the procrastinator, the lost soul or tunnel-visioned fool. I was kind of all three for a while. That said, having a drink or two helps as well. Jazz Cafe and cocktails? Hell, yes.