Lately I've been at a complete loss for creative energy. Complete emptiness. There is nothing innovative or creative coming from my person (not that there was ever an abundance before). I used to write. Consistently. But there has been such a lack of inspiration because my life feels like it's becoming so mundane. There is no real excitement. No real intrigue. No real reason to document anything.

This sounds so drab.

There are so many things I want to change, but the momentum has shifted into a circle and I keep coming back to the same day. I feel in desperate need of reinvention, which I'm somewhat in the midst of, but I don't feel it spawning any results. It's like I'm so afraid of failure that I wait in the wings for the easiest opportunity to present itself so I don't have to work towards anything that might not turn out as successful as I'm hoping it will. There is a great love story between myself and success that has yet to be written because I just keep hoping it shows up on my doorstep asking to be let into my life. There is one little problem with the love story (besides the obvious): the definition of success is _____________. The goal that will lead to this undefinable success is ____________________. Negative space. Voids, if you will.

Such a lack of direction at such an age is really unbecoming.


Searching for America.

I'd say our Fourth of July party was a success.

Maybe this time next year I'll be in California celebrating in Santa Monica, or Hollywood. Maybe not.