The cycle leaves me here again, destroying myself even slower than my colleagues who partake of substances, staying up longer than I ought to, doing things I ought not to and throwing myself into ridiculous encounters that don't mean a fucking thing in the end.
I am staying home tonight with every intention of getting some much-needed writing done. I was going to have Foreign Cities, my criminally-unmentioned script-long-in-progress completed by the new year, and it's April now.
Part of not feeling wholly at home where I live is not feeling like I can be creatively free there. It's not necessarily the fault of my grandparents; it's more that I'm guilty for living with them for so long, albeit off-and-on. I've actually got the desire to get out, though, actually have the desire to do something other than what I'm doing, which is good, right?
I am staying home tonight with every intention of getting some much-needed writing done. I was going to have Foreign Cities, my criminally-unmentioned script-long-in-progress completed by the new year, and it's April now.
Part of not feeling wholly at home where I live is not feeling like I can be creatively free there. It's not necessarily the fault of my grandparents; it's more that I'm guilty for living with them for so long, albeit off-and-on. I've actually got the desire to get out, though, actually have the desire to do something other than what I'm doing, which is good, right?