One of Those Nights... Mornings.

As I sit on my bed, trying in vain to concentrate enough to study for the GRE that I'll need to take in my impending future, I realize that I'm more prone to fits of art and creative writing when I'm upset or unusually contemplative. I guess the creative process is just better at existing and twisting itself around my brain when I'm unhappy. Escapism of a sort I suppose. 

Have you ever had one of those nights where you have little shocking realizations that you unknowingly let yourself forget? And all at once, you're plagued with thoughts of your own mortality, and the inescapable desire to make a difference. To be remembered. And a crippling fear of facing the morning, because then you have to confront life.

And you try to forget, to do something else so that you wouldn't feel so upset. Not really sad, or anything particularly angsty--just the desire to run.

I wrote tonight. A little poem called the Midnight Symphony. I listened to sad songs, and thought about my past, reminiscing, and then I drew. I drew and drew. And then I was better.

I've never been good at coping mechanisms. But this is one of the better ones I have I think.

It's a shame though, that I'm not prone to art on a regular basis (yes I did just make art a verb), because I think I could really enjoy being a studio artist-- if I were better at it, that is. ^_^