I am surrounded by my half started/half finished/half supplied/half assed/half attempted projects. Some reside on my hard drive, some on other computers, some in this room, some in other computers in other rooms. Some are not on computers at all and are littered here and there, down the hall, this shelf and that, tucked in this corner space and there. A lot is \’safe\’ (from me) up in Jessup, where I cannot throw it away. The rest sits here and taunts me.
Each project has been brought to a halt by some sort of problem. Physical illness and injury is the main culprit, with mental illness a close second. Financial security follows in third and transportation, fourth. Other people to work with when needed, fifth, and lack of a place to live, sixth.
I am scared to work on anything now. I am scared I will just quit again. I am also scared that there really is not any point to any of it. I do not like scenes. Fuck scenes, right? And I do not like consumerism, right? So why do I want to own a store? How is that going to help people?
I am laying in bed all day, terrified and bored out of my mind. What is the point to life? Work? Play? Save the planet? Why bother? I suppose I am feeling nihilistic all of a sudden. One minute wanting to work as a biologist or an astronomer, do environmentalism or life science, and the next minute wanting to get a junk habit and blow shit up because nothing matters.
Fuck, was supposed to take my medicine 45 minutes ago… Done.
