I just realize that there's absolutely nothing to do once you finish all chores, errands, and extra work that needed to be done.

... Procrastination and rushing really do make life more interesting.

The clock shows 5:36. If she calculated correctly, the sun should be rising in approximately an 54 minutes. Give or take a half hour, she believes. Physically exhausted and fatigued, she planned on shutting her eyes and succumbing to sleep approximately 6 hours ago. However, thoughts being thoughts, hers drifted a particular direction towards a certain young fellow.

The clock shows 5:40. A smile creeps onto her face as she recalls being called his "love." Catching herself in mid-smile, she scowls and digs her head into her pillow.

The clock shows 6:00. Enough with this silliness.

The clock shows 6:13. Her eyes and arms feel heavy. Still, sleep eludes her. She hates herself. She hates him.

The clock shows 6:15. Her eyes close. Her breathing slows. She does not hate him...

I'm sitting here in the studio, supposedly working on the site plan that's been in need of work for the past three days. But to work without motivation, without passion, births a product that is halfheartedly done. And that is something that I will not and cannot tolerate myself to produce. So in hopes of shedding this apathy, I write and write, seeking my muse. How difficult is it really to place some tables, people, and trees onto a site plan that is asking to be drawn onto? When in such a tepid state of mind, I tell you, my friends, that it is excruciatingly difficult.

Hm.

What ever happened to the passion that drove every word from my lips and every expression in my eyes? What happened to the life and fire inside of me?

Rethinking. Reanalyzing. Recuperating. All the "re"s in the dictionary cannot even cover the growing necessity to redo everything.