Lets be honest, it has been a while. The amount of drafts that sit on my dashboard like mouldy leftovers is worrying. Write a few sentences, the topic unknown, each sentence chasing the tail of the other but for no apparent reason. The excitement of a good idea suddenly withers away when it can’t grow more than a few lines long. Maybe it is a poem. No, poetry is much more than just an excuse for me giving up. I will come back it to it later. Perhaps my bus ride home will  give me some new found wisdom. I fell asleep on the bus that day, and instead of critically examining my surroundings for new ideas, I am dreaming about dinner.

It is this continual process, that leads to the graveyard of half finished blog posts, quarter made dresses, almost finished self portraits without the hands because I am no good at the hands.

This is fault of mine, the lack of finishing things. Maybe it is because I am lazy. Thats what I tell myself anyways. I dream of the day when I have a book written, a clothing line in the physical world, and I have six pack abs.

I hate to say but this isn’t a blog post about success. I am not going to say that yesterday I finished all the blogs post that I set out to write those many afternoons ago, or that dress that I started three years ago has been put together. I am still looking at a pile of unfinished, half alive dreams.

We all have this incomplete pile of ambitions, a constant reminder of what we haven’t done. And when I look at the pile, no matter how big, I get this feeling in my gut, as if I have had too many espresso’s. My mouth dries out a little, and start to think about what I have done. Is there anything valuable I have achieved? If I were to die tomorrow, what do I have to leave behind in this world? What will others remember me by?

I remind myself that isn’t about others, but then again, when is it not?

That feeling in my gut doesn’t seem to go away.

Am I depressed? Is there something wrong with me? When am I going to be ‘something’?

I know these are dangerous questions, but I still ask them.

As this point, I have done nothing for my situation. I have inched toward self destruction, providing myself with a path that only leads nowhere.

So I go for a run. I do something that is simple, instinctive and meditative. It’s important to find those things. I run down to the river.

I take off my shoes, and stand in the freezing water. Its cold, its uncomfortable, but its real. I can feel it. I cry.

Going to the river doesn’t change me.

But it brings clarity.