48 Hours of Pain

There are parts of human psychology that make no sense to me. I feel like an alien until times when the most mundane and petty emotions affect me the same as the other rats in the maze. As it is, I cannot help but be touched and I have to keep moving like a shark in the water. I want to be a better man. The constant struggle to be something more than I am has setbacks. The next set of movies have to be made lest I wallow in the dark places for too long and it envelops me. I am definitely seeing a direct connection between my health and my inspiration to create. When the body fails, the mind cannot focus on creation. I only wish I wouldn’t become paralyzed every time a little life threatening diagnosis gets thrown in my face.

Again, this sounds so much more melodramatic than the reality. I think I will be fine. Odds are in my favor. I just hate the creative impotence. Barely a week ago, I was on fire. I had several other projects lined up and I still have raw footage in the queue ready to be edited. It’s the time and the inspiration that elude me.

A great muse, come back to me. I promise I won’t let another marathon of TRUE BLOOD keep me from working if you just give me a little faerie dust and help me find my groove again.