You come to visit again. My old foe.
You make me feel that I’m not good enough to do what I’m doing. I’m not capable. I’m not worthy.
You make me feel everything doesn’t make sense, that everything I do is to fool myself.
“I’m kidding myself.”
“I’m heading nowhere.”
“I’m wasting my time because it’s just the wrong thing for me to do.”
You are the creator of my creative funk.
You always come back when I’m standing alone. You feed on loneliness.
You return to me when I’m impatient to achieve my goals, when I’m obsessed with utilitarianism. You are hungry for the urge and greed for gratification.
You visit when I lack practice, when my streaks are broken for too long. When the skills are unfamiliar and the hands are stiff.
You grow strong and vigorous in time gaps.
But I don’t have time for you.
I know that I will eventually get over you and know you are merely a shadow of my own mind.
So why not now?
Why do I always go through the cycle of letting you mess with my thoughts, waste my time to live and to create, and then get myself out of your mind game only after you’ve had your fun troubling me?
So pack your bag and leave. I’ve got work to do.