|Which unfortunately has been rejected by the higher ups so. Blah.|
Maybe college was trying to teach me something I've been longing to know for a long time or not. Whether or not I really love art as a profession, or not. I've been naive for a very long time, and I've always been blindingly pushing through with blunt zeal. But I guess what should've been hammered into my head at that point of time, was that I really fucking hate doing art. Sure, I survived through art college. But does that get me anywhere? Sure, it comforts my ego that tells me I passed everything and in the very least finished that miserable education there.
Or, I'm just too much of a coward to begin something I'm more positive I'll fail in, than to just persevere and lunge through the minefield of crap overload. I'm afraid to fail. I don't want to fail. And I'm too damned proud to fail. You see, this is my fucking problem. It's my character that's been cultivated for the past 21 years of my sheltered life. I like being competitive, but once I pick up a stylus, or a pencil, I dwell in my comfort zone, not wanting any way out, just in this incubatory shell of protection that'd ward me off from all things deemed bad. And in the end, I almost always ended up falling short, not being good enough. And I cycle through the process of self-bash over and over again. But does it even solve the problem?
I don't want to blame anything. I don't want to come up with anymore excuses. Maybe this just has to end. I've gotta go out there and do something else.
Just one of the many thoughts running through my head at the moment. Whether or not this is the tragic reality or not for me, I'm afraid you're not about to find out today. Because now I'm just splurging, and not being decisive. And looking backwards into the whole post, it does seem pretty self-destructive.
I could really do some table flipping right about now.