Today was a rough day. I thought it’d be good to be with people, with John and Grandma, in the a nice house out in the desert, but I’m just questioning myself: what am I doing? What is my life purpose? I feel lost.
I looked at her instagram last night, and her 2018 story. She seems happy. She’s making a lot of progress, and I feel like I haven’t made much. She found love, and I lost it. I’m trying to be happy for her. There’s so much I don’t know about her, that I wish I knew.
So, today, I was just questioning everything. Thinking about the past. Grandma said I seemed tired, John said I seemed under the weather. I just said, ‘yeah.’ What else can I say? I’m depressed about a woman who hasn’t talked to me in eight months? It seems too ridiculous to tell anybody. Even my therapist. Walking around Lowes with John, I must have seemed a positive zombie.
I’m trying to be better, but it’s so hard. I napped, then worked on my screenplay. That made me feel better. Then, I painted a landscape of the backyard patio. A beautiful scene, but I felt like I ruined it. I found myself hating the painting, and feeling like I should give it up. Maybe this is just one of another of the many random things I put up, then give up on. I painted the table in the wrong place. I didn’t know how to render those clouds, the way the light shined so brilliantly through them in the late afternoon. I couldn’t get that green dark enough, or add the detail I felt it lacked. I felt rushed, like it was a race with myself. I’ll try to add more detail tomorrow.
I read Anna Karenina after dinner; got to the climactic scene. No one can write like Tolstoy. I’d like to write something like that someday.