time for a little self-exploration.

I am alive. Just drowning.

Seems I’ve needed to occupy my brain with amusements instead of puzzles recently.

I don’t want to say Act Three is overwhelming or scary. It is. That shouldn’t have to be said. They always are, aren’t they? What I do want to say is that my drive is... muddled. As my mind fills up like an unskimmed, neglectfully chlorinated swimming pool, I find the need to resort to the many other things I have seen as not worth my time, namely time-wasting.

As much as I pride myself on using the internet for productive means (watching TED lectures, keeping abreast with the theatrical blog-o-sphere, and the next art and design developments) I can sure as hell use these to no productive end as well as the next man (if not better because “I’m learning”).

And while exploring my own creative imagination requires intense focus, a focus I’ve come to love and welcome with a lover’s embrace, I find myself opting for the less regimented realm of another’s.

After all, how can I become a good writer if I don’t know what else is being written?

So I occupy my time with stories, with books, with images and music. Anything to overcome that bubbling voice drowning in my pool telling me I’m only hurting myself by postponing the inevitable.

And yet I can’t be too harsh on myself because I have been productive. I have seen theatre. I have seen movies. I am reading literature. And most importantly I am unconsciously picking up the parts I enjoy most and storing them in my pool house, in the toolbox right next to the pool skimmer so in a few hours when I skim and chlorinate the rotting thing I can feel confident the next time I want to go for a swim because I have new tools that will help fill up all those cracks in its damn foundations.