Finally, FINALLY, I was able to return to my “normal routine” after 5 days of being all over the place hanging out till late, drinking and eating like an animal without barely getting any sleep. Safe to stay, it feels good.

I’m desperately in need of another project. I don’t want to begin another videogame (well, shouldn’t). There aren’t any series that are worth my time (no, rewatching HBO’s top 5 shows yet again, and that’s not an option. It’s too soon.) I have like 4 different study topics and classes to dive into, but not really in the mood to actually seat down every night and listen-read nee material to learn. (If my heart is not fully in and motivated, I don’t even commence.)

Everything is pointing towards me starting to write a new novel.

I should be happy. I am, even kind of excited to be feeling this specific urge again. To feel the need to create something out of thin air.

It’s on my mind. I have to visualize it, organize it, understand it, then describe it, bring it to life.

The path only leads to the blank page, again. It’s only a matter of time… I just have to accept it.