Saturday, April 11

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?