My ability to persist is, shall we say faulty?  I begin with rocket fired enthusiasm and detailed lists then come to a stuttering stop well short of my destination.  I have begun dozens of journals, blogs, morning pages, call them what you will, over the years.  Written thousands of words that suddenly come to a stop for no reason.  I join things only to forget about them within days. 

I spent hours just after Christmas planning a budget for the coming semester. Set up all kinds of ways to monitor my progress.  Then simply put all that work aside as though it had never been done.  I am a world class organizer in short bursts.  No wonder I have never achieved anything.

University is a struggle.  I am keeping up with the work even though I have not been into the studio since last Wednesday. n The dark is pulling at my mind and unraveling my will.  Most days I am so tired that the simplest activities are beyond me.  When I wake in the mornings the thought of getting out of bed fills me with dread.  It requires an enormous effort of will to wash my hair, have a bath, get dressed.  I dread leaving the house or even the sofa.

Ridiculously small things play endlessly in my  head as though they were insurmountable problems.  For example.  Contextual studies.  The introduction to the module was given last week.  The essay and the presentation connected with it are all to do with an analysis of our own work.  We are to work in pairs.  One to present their artists statement, the other to curate and explain a selection of the first persons work.  Either role terrifies me.  The thought of giving a presentation before the whole group or the vulnerability of exposing my thinking.  Even worse is the humiliation of having to admit that I have no partner.  The students I know reasonably well have already paired up.  I have not been able to add my name to the list as required because there is just me.

I do not know what to do.  How can I go to the lecturer and explain my predicament?  It would be like asking that someone be forced to partner me.  That so familiar feeling of isolation is very strong.  But if I do nothing I risk failing the course and thereby threatening my degree.  I want this time to study art so badly.  Whether I have talent or not is irrelevant.  It makes me happy.  Wrong word.  Some times my art makes me miserable and frustrated.  What it does is make me feel real, purposeful.  As though this is what I am meant to do.  When I am painting or making I feel so alive.  The problems are always within my own mind and I have to find a way to defeat the enemies of my own creation.

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I sit frozen.  While all the chores of normal every day life crowd around me.  Shouting and tugging in an attempt to get my attention.

Two years ago I attempted to take a certain path.  Some times I think that smoking too much, neglect and paralysis are no more than a longer route to the same destination.

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1am

Another wasted day.  Little done.  My new cooker arrived and I told H that yet again I will not be going into university tomorrow.  I have to go on Thursday come what may.  MJ phoned which made me feel both happy and wistful. A reminder of that which ws never mine adn of what I doubt I will ever find.  I am not even sure I could go back, even if it were possible.  Something in me has changed too much.  Yet ...