After leaving my job a few months ago I thought I would begin a new chapter in my life by filling my days with some much-needed relaxation and allowing myself the time to re-focus creatively and personally.
Instead I’ve been most successful at giving myself an endless array of shit for not being more artistically productive or inspired on a daily basis which makes for what I believe to be some pretty serious irony:
I will never be successful. At anything.
Much like my numerous failed attempts to learn to the guitar/piano/drums beyond plucking strings, poking keys, or banging on cymbals, I cannot seem to move past the point of frustration at figuring out new things which might allow me to find peace in being creative and possibly, somewhere down the line, entrepreneurial:
I will never finish anything that I start.
When I recently mentioned to the bee that I thought I might like to work in a library, he reminded me that most library work is on a volunteer-only basis:
Any and all discernible life-skills I have are at once impractical and completely useless when trying to support yourself financially.
Perhaps it’s because I stopped taking my meds or the fact that I’ve been unemployed for a while that’s causing a momentous level of despair to creep into my life.
Either way, it seems my ability to differentiate between a justifiable cause for fear or worry against something which is completely fabricated by my damaged brain has never been worse.
But… at least I’m taking it all in stride:
Yep. Totally under control.