The reason why writers can’t write and photographers can’t shoot and lovers can’t love is that they put too much romanticism into what they’re supposed to do. One just has to buckle down and do it. Because writing and photographing and loving are work. One cannot abandon them at a mood’s whim.
That’s me convincing myself. Because I hate that writing now on a deadline makes me weepy. I am always weepy when I write and shoot and love that it’s exhausting. And one too many times I am inclined to stop. Just stop. It’s not worth it.
I’d like to find work that I do not feel for. Just to get something over with for the day. Just something to put food on the table and clothes on my back. Why can’t life be simple like that? I’d like to be a waitress really. Or a cook. Manual labor. After all I’m good with my hands.
And it wouldn’t be like I was abandoning a dream. I never dreamt of this anyway.
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