Hey, I’m trying to survive.
I sleep four hours a day, and sometimes I skip out on it altogether. I paint my nails while taking notes on a book, while writing an email, while drinking my morning cup of coffee. My conversations with people have started to involve words like “thesis”, “your media analysis”, “my miserable life”, or “my camera is better than yours.”
I don’t look at trees the same way. Or stones, or doors, or elevators. Or people. Everyone and everything is a photographic possibility, or an article waiting to be written. I need information, I need motivation, I need new earrings.
My priorities are stellar.
There’s a research paper waiting in the wings, glaring at me day and night. An essay stands not far behind, calling out. Every time I stumble, I fall into words and figures and facts. A professor hates me, some show their ridicule in a more subtle way. Such exaggerations, such hormones, such tempers.
So it’s a bit hard, this being inspired business. But I guess at some point between sipping hot chocolate and juggling a notebook, a wallet, and my phone in my hands, inspiration just shows up.