the days I spend not wanting to be myself seem to be piling up.

feeling restless. procrastinating every email, every phone call, and blog post even.

wishing I was alone in a field with nothing but a sketchbook and a pen. so much there is I wish to say, to articulate all of these incredible experiences with accuracy, but feeling they deserve better than my uneasy distraction.

the plus side is, these seem to be the only days I can stand to clean the house.