When will I create again?

When will setting up my pencils and paint not seem like a chore?
When will I be able to leave my creations unfinished and not fret over them being destroyed by curious hands?
When will I have time to give to creative pursuits?
When will choosing between work and play be less of an obvious answer?
When will having literal anxiety attacks over the idea of spilled paint on a rented floor be a distant memory?
When will scrolling my Instagram feed feel inspiring without the sour taste of jealousy, wanting to join in with the beauty of the creators but feeling like I’m secluded by babies?
When will my overwhelming inspiration enable me to create, rather than just overwhelm me?
I miss creating. I get so simultaneously happy and sad whenever I see beautiful people making beautiful things. The closest thing I get to being creative is setting up little photos with Hamish. Eliza won’t let me use her as a prop anymore. I imagine by the time Hamish goes through this stage I might be able to actually pick up a pen and paper and do a doodle?

Maybe?

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