I had a really good night out with friends last night.
We ate dinner at the house of a friend named Ramsey, who is an excellent cook.
As Ramsey often does, he was encouraging me to try my had at some dishes and help him prepare ingredients. I was thinking about how I don't really like to draw so much any more, how I feel like I can't just cook effortlessly like I used to, how every time I have a house plant I feel like it's going to die.
I sort of wondered what that was about, why I feel a veil between myself and so many creative, intuitive activities.
I haven't been unhappy at all, I've tried a lot of new things lately, and i still write and love to dress up. It's not as though I'm having some existential crisis that is destroying my entire life by sucking out my creative soul.
But still, I suppose that a toll is taken by working two jobs, by pushing myself to be more successful and a bigger part of the community.
When I created art, cooked, worked with my plants...I think I was often escaping, turning my back on the world and being a little narcissistic. Creating everything in my own idealized images, thoughts, and forms. It was a very self-obsessed act.

And then, standing in Ramsey's kitchen, I was watching Kenny take his instruction on cutting up parsley, and just had a strange sense of release, of weight being lifted.