I feel so drained. I have no energy these days.
I thought once I’d got things sorted, I’d feel ready to start work again. Now I have a job sorted for September, I have my room 90% complete, I have some form of social life…but I still can’t pick up a pen. I feel physically sick when I think about writing.
What’s wrong with me? I feel happiest when I’m creative. It’s the only time I actually put my brain to use. So I sort out things in my life, thinking that will get things off my mind, and yet here I am, still unable to do anything productive.
Tom is too far away. Only money would rectify that. And I have none.
This patience of mine is wearing thin.
