I can relate. Currently I'm going through a spell: I want to create, and I feel artistic. But that's all blunted by the fact that my perspective and experience is entirely boring, and I have no talent to speak of. Something from a book I'm reading comes to mind "Every hour wounds, the last one kills." Not that I'm that pessimistic or depressed, but there's a bit of harsh reality in the sentiment.
I try to find joy in the little things in life, an extra delicious order of noodles from the chinese place during lunch. Catching a surprisingly entertaining movie on TV, one that I would pass over a hundred times in a video store. It works to a point.
At the end of the day what's important? I really don't know, but I'm kind of scared that the answer is nothing.
I try to find joy in the little things in life, an extra delicious order of noodles from the chinese place during lunch. Catching a surprisingly entertaining movie on TV, one that I would pass over a hundred times in a video store. It works to a point.
At the end of the day what's important? I really don't know, but I'm kind of scared that the answer is nothing.