This is relatively lame of me to point out, but often I forget how completely necessary having a creative outlet is for me. Sometimes, writing isn’t enough. Sometimes it takes too much effort and I can’t channel everything I feel into something graceful or even somewhat interesting. It frustrates me as I find this relatively valueless to anyone, including myself at times. I have no music to play, though I whipped out my violin for the first time in way too long last night and I found a bit of myself I’d been neglecting for a month now. I am now, gladly, knee-deep in a few projects. I think I might take the next few weeks to be creatively-driven completely for myself for once, no deadlines, no prompts, no requirements to be successful. I think I owe that to myself before the hustle and bustle of this transition into a relatively different life begins. If you’d like to interrupt my hermit time, let me know. I’d love to have company if you’d like to. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not always laughing and smiling and being the happy version of myself that everyone, including myself, has become so accustomed to. Sometimes I’m quiet. Sometimes I don’t have anything to say. Sometimes I’m not brave. Sometimes I need to be needed. Sometimes I’m jealous. Sometimes I want to scream. Sometimes I’m scared. Sometimes I’m annoying. Sometimes your insincere words are not enough. Sometimes I’m not enough. Sometimes I don’t care for you to try to convince me otherwise.