Waiting for the sun
You may have to roll with the punches a bit today should silly little things go wrong. Try not to get frazzled, just take things slowly and one step at a time. Doing some sort of physical labour this afternoon will tease out the tension knots, if you're up for it. But don't start anything new this afternoon, it won't get completed. Could be quite a pleasant night to be with the one you love, though nothing earth-shattering!
If you do artistic or creative work, you may be more critical of it than usual, feel that it is not well received or appreciated, or simply feel a little dry and uninspired. Without realizing it, you are probably censoring yourself. Accepting imperfection and being patient in both the creative and the romantic aspects of your life will be necessary.
Oh ... my ... god ... I can't believe how glum and depressed I am feeling today. I half considered not writing anything down at all and simply dismissing today as a blip on the landscape, but I feel fairly overwhelmed by the depth of feeling I have experienced. What has this got to do with the creative process? Well, it's stifling it good and proper, to the extent that I would rather go and curl up in bed on my spotty, spotty sheets than even begin to think about the work I have to do. Which is precisely what I intend to do in several hours when I am freed from the shackles of work.
What brings these things on? Work. Boys. A cycle of dread. The monkey's chatter in my ear. A lack of sleep caused by a racing brain, fuzzed with the remnants of the scarlet Jesus Juice I imbibed last night to drown my temporary sorrows. Feeling blah and uninspired is the worst possible state to be in, especially on a greyed out Thursday. Especially when I wake with puffy eyes and waxy skin.
I am supposed to be patient but I'm losing my confidence, my spark. I am having trouble thinking straight, even.
It just makes me realise what a stranglehold my emotions have on me, how willingly my body succumbs to their whims. Having a head full of storm clouds and eyes close to tears render words useless - I can't speak them, let alone write them. Even less do I care to write about the sparkling times and struggles of others when my own life seems like a tangle of unfinished sentences.
Damn you, black mood, and soon shall you pass.