Isn’t it so crazy how we can completely convince ourselves something is going so drastically wrong when in reality everything is fine? Nothing is moving any faster than it ever was before, and life is not as jumbled as it seems.
I want to make things for a living. i want to draw and sculpt and capture and write and I don’t want to worry about money or being good enough. I just want to do for once.
I want to be this impossibly bright ball of energy and positivity even, no especially, when I feel wronged or beaten down.
I want to be susceptible to nothing. In even the hardest moments, I want to retain faith in myself.
When everything feels too heavy, when the concept of living is unbearable, I remind myself that I’m not at the stage of myself I’d like to be quite yet; that I’m in training to be someone I’m damn proud of, and that it’s okay to be proud of this imperfect, less shiny me, too.
I know it’s almost time to leave work when I start judging people for misspelling words that, on second glance, are spelled correctly.
Just sitting in my car sippin coffee and regretting spraying that much perfume into a small enclosed space. Yeah. It’s the beginning of the work week.