There's the 2019 new year and then there's my own new year coming this February. My birthday is on the fourteenth, overshadowed by that occasion that has remained alien to my own life. Despite all the marketing maximising the event to include everyone you love, the core of Valentine remains to be about lovers. And a love story is something that has always eluded me in real life.
Thus my art and stories were born out of that absence. First an impossible garden and then it grew deeper into a wildforest. I am a wandering would-be queen in a kingdom haunted by a blue-heart king. There are hundreds of fairy tales, and yet it is all about the one same story.
Sometimes, like today, I find myself at a crossroads, and I contemplate trading off this fairy tale for a forgetting and a fortune. I have shed so much of my old lives, skinned raw, exhausted to the bone, all in quest of a Story that has slept so long waiting to come true. But today the maps I have drawn are riddled with the markings of too many dead ends.
Not in the best of conditions since the new year began. On the second day I started feeling ill and as of today I have a full-blown cough and sore throat. I get the threats of a fever frequently throughout the day. I cannot do much of anything as the ill feeling overcomes me and so does a tidal wave of fatigue.
I know what's brought it on. My hands are tied I cannot do much about it. So ill or not I must grit my teeth and trudge through the days.
Today at the very least I will attempt, again, to overcome the exhaustion and paralysis. I must pull myself out of the house and throw away the guilt and treat myself to a nice meal and let myself stay for hours in a nice sunlit cafe.
Of course I have a gazillion plans for 2019. The challenge is to actually get them done. This sickness I am feeling now is the manifestation of the struggle inside me and the impotence I feel on whether there is any point at all to begin in the first place. Because I hate to begin and then have to pull back or hold back and lose the thread and then start all over again. Because someone else's timetable and agenda had to come first. Because bills have to be paid. Because sometime in the past there were too many misguided choices that set things a certain way. One of the hard things is the fact that despite my efforts, the returns are so few and never quite enough. And I know there is such a thing as the Long Years but, heck, I could use and possibly deserve a really good break now and then.
I am frustrated that I cannot go deep into the forest because I keep getting called back. To be real. To be practical.
The hard thing is that I cannot just pick up where I last left off. I have to start all over again. Because the "real" things corrode what has been started, stains everything with rot, leeches out all the magic.
This must be a rather unusual creative blog as it is full too much of the pains instead of the progress. But then I am not one of those successful artists who are in a position to share the insights of a creative life well lived. At this point I can only share the warnings of when things do not go as one expected. The most you will learn from me right now is maybe how not to kill yourself or your art.