I have been in a reading drought for a painful amount of time. Every time I would make an attempt to read, the material wouldn't be able to capture my attention. It was through no fault of the pages themselves-- I sat down in front of some of my favorite books, and I just could not take it in. It wasn't just reading. It has also been writing (in my journal, letters to one of my closest friends), making art, taking care of myself physically and emotionally, and feeling truly inspired in my daily life. The only times I have been able to create have been during extremely structured environments, like art classes with other students. For almost two years, I have secretly been worried that I don't have it anymore. That curiosity, that sharpness. That I would need to assimilate to a mold that someone else has already made. This dry spell has been severe.
Today I was "busy" and still managed to casually read myself halfway through a book, and I am feeling like part of me has returned to myself. It came so naturally, as if it had been there all along.
And goddamn, I feel so relieved. I missed this so much.
.JPG)
.JPG)
