wonderlust

i've been so busy trying to take off with an art career, or a potential art career, that all my freetime and my insomnia time is devoured by the things that i "have to be doing" instead of the things that i should be doing, like maintaining my writing.

it's hard to write when i'm not depressed sometimes. and it's hard to be depressed when i don't have time for it lately, but it's easy to be depressed when valentines day rolls around for the third single year in a row. my winter melancholies hit me like a ton of bricks this weekend, and though i want to just go home and crawl into bed after work, i'm going to be up working all night on a drawing that i promised i'd do for a friend to give to his girlfriend for the aforementioned holiday.

work's been busy, but i'm grabbing a minute to write, because in between phone calls i've been reading my friend jonathan's blog, which i've needed to catch up on for a while. i feel like a jerk friend for not reaching out to anyone lately, especially not to old, dear friends who mean more to me than most people. there was a bit from one of his posts that stuck to me:

"dreams have the last laugh - still i prefer those laughs to the cruelty of the self-reflecting mind on the fringes of sleep - that's when the ghosts devour me, that's the only time they can"

it stuck because it so perfectly worded my thought process of late, and why i've been can't-sleeping for weeks now. i shouldn't be surprised, jonathan's always had the right words for things.

and now, images, or images of other people's words, because i can't words on my own anymore today.