I find I have so many. I find I
self-sabotage what once was (and could be again) a creatively fantastic brain. I could
blame it on adulthood. I never truly recovered from that moment when you suddenly
realize the Barbie thing isn’t working the way it once did. I could blame it on an
ex-boyfriend that destroyed my sketchbook of 5+ years, because in some ways I’ll never get over that 9-year-old injustice. That was an attack on my very being. I could blame it
on art school degrading my sense of
joy at making mistakes and happy little accidents and going with the
flow. I could blame the tornado. That one’s pretty hard to argue...
But I’ve generally been one to take
personal responsibility and I hardly ever place blame. Placing blame is lame. I'm learning not to fault myself, but I will
take ownership of my creative output, which is sometimes so close to zero that the
thought cripples me into further flatlines.
The only creative endeavors I’ve
accomplished in the last month or so include making a few YouTube videos, putting on
makeup and nail polish a couple of times, and hot gluing some flowers and ivy to three headbands.
In
times of creative drought, I tend to fantasize about going back to
basics. I feel like buying a Hello Kitty coloring book and coloring my
feelings before I work back up to endeavors that might appear more adult-like. Maybe I'll do a paint-by-numbers. Perhaps I'll scribble in a few of my books with permanent markers.
