Flickering Light.

5 pm is magic hour here. You know what magic hour is....that time of day where the sunlight becomes yellow and reflects off everything so beautifully. Every building, every pebble, every piece of skin.

I hop into a bubble bath, body temperature, curtains wide open, under the flickering sunlight. Everything is beautiful. The branches and greenery outside. The birds in the trees, the patches of blue sky, the flickering of it all.

Sadly I feel a little...like a waste of space. I have lots to do that I haven't done yet and there is no one to blame but myself. I sit in luxurious beauty and it seems to highlight my flaws. I feel like a burden.

I know the feeling will pass, as it does, but it's exhausting all the same.

I hear people out in the street, in the distance, yammering their yammer. Men building things. People on the way to the post office. People going about their lives. I remember working a 9-5. I remember the team I worked for, the things I did. Toward the end my job was just ridiculous but before that, *before* that...I remember working like other people work. I remember a steady paycheck. I remember the security that only comes from clocking in and clocking out. How *easy* it is to be that person. And how much more...respect...you get for being that person. No matter what the position, if you clock in and out you get more respect than working on your own terms. Unless, of course, you're a self made millionaire.

I don't know why I'm so behind in my work and why I'm stressing out. I can pin it on the move but the move is now over. I can pin it on going away this weekend and not having time to start anything, but there was time. There was time this morning, in this morning that I dawdled away.

Urge.

And so I get to lay in a beautiful bubble bath in a beautiful world and feel like a waste of space.

Again, I know I can get over this. I know I can work harder. I know that I will.
It's just....
It's just....

Sometimes it's easier to clean toilets and bring home the dollars than to stay home and figure your hours. And I doubt anybody who isn't in this position will ever *get* that. I don't think they'll ever get the extra burden of not only relying on yourself but beating yourself up. The extra burden of being your own responsibility. Where your uniform is completely your own skin and nothing else.

That's it.
My uniform is my own skin.
And even when my skin is crawling, I must not take it off.

And even now, writing, I feel a spoiled brat.
I guess because so many people tell me how lucky I am. And I *am* lucky, very. I'm so blessed to be in the position where I can stay at home and work on my art.
It's just...
It's just that *also* they don't know how lucky *they are* too.
And if I ever tried to explain it...

It just wouldn't fly.

I don't even know where I'm going with this.

I don't even know if I should post this.

It's just...
the flickering light was beautiful today.
That was all I meant to write.

I bungled that as well.