It's exhilarating feeling the charge that I did when I was 16... notating a jazz piece, not even really knowing anything about jazz. Or 20... decorating my wall with Post-it notes detailing the plot structure of my latest epic. It's not all glorious, of course - for example, the alternate days spent in bed crying, refusing to eat, and thinking that I am totally worthless and just want to die. But when I'm sitting at my art desk and there is magic in my fingertips, I wonder what the hell I've been doing trying to level my moods in the first place. (Don't tell my psychiatrist I said that.) Could all the suffering be worth it just to have that occasional spark? Today, the answer seems to be "yes". If I can just learn to harness it and think through the proper stages of a project...
I'll feel differently tomorrow, of course, like I always do. It's just been a few enchanting days of glimmering hopes, changes of heart, and grandiose plans. I'd like to at least allow myself to feel some joy. I'm getting somewhat closer to making sense of how to ride those waves without being pulled into a rip tide. At least, I'd like to think so. I would so love to figure out how to channel my energy into actually getting something done. There are so many stories I want to tell!
Here's a dancing silver woman that appeared on my paper.
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