Slow Down Honey

Thumbnail: Egg yolk

Try to hold you in bed you shrug away instead oh I don’t know why.” I found this song dur­ing a recent tran­si­tion, and it’s stayed with me since. It fits so many moods — con­tent­ment, sad­ness, lon­li­ness, morn­ing, mourn­ing, and moult­ing.

Thumbnail: Bloody Mary

In a way, I’m forc­ing myself grow and improve, and this scares me. In the book my ther­a­pist rec­om­mend­ed, it explains “Change requires will­ing­ness to expe­ri­ence pain”, and I’m going through this exact­ly. I’m con­stant­ly step­ping out of my com­fort zone, and at this point, it’s much more trep­i­da­tion than excite­ment. It’d be so much eas­i­er to fall into old men­tal habits, as unhealthy as they are.

Thumbnail: Games night

On morn­ings like this, I sit in my liv­ing room with the cur­tains open. It makes me self-con­scious to be sit­ting there with hous­es across the street get­ting a clear view of me in my PJs and mussed up hair. But it reminds me that some­one else is out there. That the world is full of life, and vibran­cy, and peo­ple just like me.

Thumbnail: Bloody Mary

The days move quick­ly. To be hon­est, I would­n’t mind if spring came ear­ly this year. I’ve had my fill of the snow by now. Maybe I’m just look­ing for a change, some­thing that isn’t the same Canadian win­ter that made our embraces that much warmer, when we weren’t find­ing com­fort in mutu­al mugs of hot tea and duck-down duvets.

Thumbnail: Ramsay

I’ve been feel­ing bet­ter late­ly. About life in gen­er­al, but myself as well. I guess you could say I’ve stopped blam­ing myself, or won­der­ing what I did wrong.

Thumbnail: Guy and gal

Sometimes, you care for some­one so much and so often that it becomes a habit, long after their gone, regard­less of what you’ve been through. At that point, it’s only hard to let go because you don’t want to. When you lose your muse, you lose your inspi­ra­tion, and for some­one like me, the soul begins to with­er.

Thumbnail: Jello shooter cake

The days are def­i­nite­ly eas­i­er than the nights. When I wake up between 3–5 am, all these thoughts keep flood­ing back, as if my sub­con­scious is doing the think­ing I’ve been try­ing to avoid. But when the sun is on my face, I’m left feel­ing serene and uncar­ved.


  1. The con­cept of a muse appeals to me, but I feel that that kind of exter­nal­iza­tion cre­ates a depen­den­cy. Possibly even dual­ism. Maybe if you con­sid­ered this from anoth­er angle. Visualize cre­ativ­i­ty as inter­nal, much like Chi is inter­nal — lim­it­less. You might find that the man­i­fes­ta­tion of our creativity/chi in what we do makes us equal­ly appre­ci­ate the provo­ca­tion of our respons­es, whether that be a tub of jel­lo or a wor­thy Wii oppo­nent.

    • That’s an inter­est­ing idea. I’ve always believed there’s a dual­ism when it comes to the artist and his/her inspi­ra­tion. Perhaps if I could trans­plant that inspi­ra­tion or make it flex­i­ble and dynam­ic, the only thing I’d real­ly be depen­dent on would be my own inter­nal cre­ativ­i­ty.

  2. the orig­i­nal sense of muse was some­thing exter­nal which vis­its when the exter­nal ener­gy choos­es, and the cre­ativ­i­ty is not at its source in the artist, nor found at the dis­cre­tion of the artist. you are the con­duit, giv­ing the time and space, but not the agency of cre­ativ­i­ty.

    • Ah, like the mus­es of Greek mythol­o­gy. Interesting. It takes the respon­si­bil­i­ty of cre­at­ing out of your hands, which makes me love and hate it simul­ta­ne­ous­ly.

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