(no subject)
I feel like I'm rotting in this dead-end coastal suburb that I've been subject to for 19 years. I wake up every single day to see, do, and put up with the exact same things I did yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.
My artistic inspiration feels dead. Countless times I've sat staring at a blank sketchbook page and wondering why I hadn't put anything on it yet. I rarely spend my free time drawing in the first place; it's usually devoted to my social life or college work. I've even found myself asking, 'Do I even want to draw anymore?'. I quickly discard the thought however, chastising myself for even asking such a horrendous question.
I think about it every day. How I could be in Atlanta right now, having the absolute time of my life. Doing art every day, meeting new people, enjoying utter autonomy, just constantly experiencing something new all the time. Instead, I'm still living with my parents in an empty, lifeless town that has nothing to offer me anymore. All of my friends moved away a while back, isolating me to this barricade of homogeneous routine torture.
I can keep my sanity intact for this last semester at San Jacinto. I've started applying for jobs everywhere so I can begin saving up to leave this all behind. The economy taking a nose-dive doesn't help the fact that I still live in a concrete jungle with very limited job opportunities that smack you with a glass ceiling the second you're hired. I live too far from Houston to bother checking there and my art isn't good enough to be commissioned.
I can't write anymore. I feel nauseous just thinking about all of this. Goddammit.
My artistic inspiration feels dead. Countless times I've sat staring at a blank sketchbook page and wondering why I hadn't put anything on it yet. I rarely spend my free time drawing in the first place; it's usually devoted to my social life or college work. I've even found myself asking, 'Do I even want to draw anymore?'. I quickly discard the thought however, chastising myself for even asking such a horrendous question.
I think about it every day. How I could be in Atlanta right now, having the absolute time of my life. Doing art every day, meeting new people, enjoying utter autonomy, just constantly experiencing something new all the time. Instead, I'm still living with my parents in an empty, lifeless town that has nothing to offer me anymore. All of my friends moved away a while back, isolating me to this barricade of homogeneous routine torture.
I can keep my sanity intact for this last semester at San Jacinto. I've started applying for jobs everywhere so I can begin saving up to leave this all behind. The economy taking a nose-dive doesn't help the fact that I still live in a concrete jungle with very limited job opportunities that smack you with a glass ceiling the second you're hired. I live too far from Houston to bother checking there and my art isn't good enough to be commissioned.
I can't write anymore. I feel nauseous just thinking about all of this. Goddammit.