I attempted to sleep fifteen minutes ago. No luck, I’m too used to her sleeping next to me. I’ll stay up into the early morning hours and hope fatigue lulls me into a restful slumber.

I’m writing for the book, at least a half hour a day. I know it’s not much but it’s every day. In my deluded overly ambitious mind, I’ll have the writing done before the end of August. Let’s be clear, I will not have the writing done before the end of August. I am imposing the illusion upon myself in the hopes of getting a huge chunk of the writing coaxed into being. If I can get that far and actually see the point where the book is done, I am hoping that fact can coax me to and through the finish line.

There’s a lot of hope in that last paragraph.

No real drawing has happened since art class ended. A little piece of me died when it did. The class was basic basic art, the lectures bored me into madness, still, the flimsy excuse to do art and actually doing the art felt good, it felt natural. The self portrait I managed to whittle out was, well, it gave me pride and hope. I felt as though I still had the chops.

Now that art class is over, the excuse to draw is difficult to find, as is the motivation. I find myself doing what I had been doing with all of it all along, procrastinating. Which is particularly dangerous when there is no deadline.

Work is work. I get a whole lot out of it, I cater to people, work with a team, feel good about enduring, feel good about helping, you know, chicken-soup-for-the-soul kinda stuff. My pay still crushes me, though. Even so, you’ll find me working every day of this month until school starts on the 27th. And then you’ll catch me doing doubles on top of that. Why? For the money. Pay for school first and, with any extra, try to fund an art show or two.

I’m tired and that’ll explain the cynicism when I write: I think I will lose way more money doing those shows than I will ever earn. What I invest into frames, merchandise, advertising, and travel will never see a return. Admittedly, I can’t say anything for certain. What I can say is, I am so excited at times, so sure, I am convinced: I can do this. Trouble is, I’ve been telling myself I can do this for fifteen years now.