Haven't thought about this much, and I may yet return.
I work too much and think too little.
I never thought the day would truly arrive, the day I knew I became creatively dead. The day came yesterday, or rather, the night. The night when I realized my creativity comes out in only short bursts of fashion free will...fashion I've become afraid to wear. I never draw, writing is now boring. I can't afford to paint a picture, and you hardly hear me sing a song.
I've finally been taken over by paychecks and rules and the things are.
Never the way things could be, if I one day decided to make them.
Every day is the same, and every night. Its