Listening to: Karen O - "Immigrant Song"
Reading: Hark! A Vagrant
Apparently Hans Christian Andersen had a morbid terror of being buried alive, and would leave a note beside his bed at night that read, "I only appear to be dead."
What a weird dude.
This year I'll be finishing my undergraduate degree, and soon after that I'll probably be launching straight into a Masters in speech pathology. In short, school would like to think it owns my ass.
But that's only part of the reason that I haven't drawn anything in over a year.
I don't get it. I don't like it. Drawing used to be my main de-stressor - I would sit up all night sometimes to do it and go to bed happy at 5 am. I loved to translate everything I read and watched into pictures on paper. But at some point, it started to become a source of stress in itself. It began to take an unreasonable amount of effort to draw anything I was halfway content with - it was like trying to pass a kidney stone through a pencil lead. Especially when I started to commit myself to projects - my God, I should have known myself better and saved everyone a whole lot of trouble. It just got harder and harder.
Eventually I just unplugged my tablet, logged off of DevA, and decided to go fight some battles I might win. It's not as if there weren't other areas of my life that needed the attention.
So. At the moment, that part of me is doing a very, very good impression of being dead.
I won't bury it yet, though. Maybe it's only sleeping.