I’m guilty of enjoying lockdown.

Okay, so been watching art vids on YouTube all day, reading, with occasional writing of drabbles inserted here and there. I’m a bit sore and achey from staying up all night drawing. Definitely did not have that happen when I was in high school.

The art vids have me feeling insecure about my art skills, but I have to remember the last time I really did any serious art was when I was twenty five. That was around the same time I stopped writing as well give or take a year or two and didn’t write for seven years. There is a story behind that, and one I’m not ready share just yet.

I’m in the process of setting up a new writing blog which is related to what I do as a profession.

My seven year creativity drought is closely intertwined with events associated with a particular life event and story involving work. If I ever get into it, it will be told there. It’s a hell of a story. If you’ve read about Caroline Calloway and her ghost writer, it’s that kind of level. (I know who wants to read about another white girl’s toxic friendship.)

The truth is I haven’t churned out a significant amount of art work since I was sixteen. I was okay at it. Inconsistent would be a great description of my abilities.

This is the first time in a long while I have time to just sit and dream. Is it really horrible I’m kind of enjoying lock down? I can spend time in my fantasy land, and nobody is around to judge me. Nobody is lamenting my introversion, and making out I’m some sort of freak for liking to read, write, create at home. It’s my time to shine, bitches.

I have energy for creativity the first time in years, and I kind of love it.

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