Discovering my inner prozac

I have a boatload of caution, and it is just begging to be thrown to the wind.
My creative juices have slowed to a trickle; it’s just enough to get out a few blog posts each month. But I am not satisfied.
I want to make something. And as much as I love baking, a dozen muffins isn’t exactly what I’m going for here. I want color, design, organized chaos, something tangible and unexpected. I want to make a dent, throw my routine for a loop.
Maybe it’s winter’s fault. Or this whole ‘buying a house’ thing. Maybe it’s the natural ebb and flow of creative necessity; it does seem to poke its head out at the most inopportune times. (Though of course, the moment you’re ready, pen or paintbrush or camera in hand, it fades vindictively like a 1920s silent movie villain, velvet cape carefully masking his delightfully smug smirk.) From here on out, I am on a mission. I will find my epicenter, my drive, my medium.
The nine to five living is cumbersome and weary, and life without imagination is dreadfully dreary.
“All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.” Pablo Picasso
“Odd how the creative power at once brings the whole universe to order.” Virginia Woolf
“The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources.” Albert Einstein

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