Comes days when it is just plain impossible to see the light. When you question every single decision you ever made so far and ask yourself if this is really the kind of life you were expecting to be living at this stage. When you can’t see the light, the tunnel seems exhausting. Dark, moist, echoing metallically to your unsaid or even unthought of thoughts. This is not how I expected it to be, you keep telling yourself, as if it made any difference. As if anything you say or do makes any difference. Time just keeps on going. First you are relieved and happy about finally resolving your work. You take time out of the studio, time for yourself and your family perhaps. You deserve it. You worked so hard. Enjoy yourself now, there’s plenty of time. You haven’t been in the studio the whole week, a couple of weeks, a month, a few months. After a while the 30 days cycle turn into 6 months periods. Several of them. You notice you haven’t made any new work in a year. In 2 years. And there’s me. I’m the one sitting at the sandpit picking sand out of my collar after a hilarious misunderstanding. You’ll meet me there at the 2 year marking. I feel so divided. There are moments, when I would just want to end this shit and start a less stressful life. Engage with some other activity that would be less knee-breaking, nerve-stretching and hair-pulling. This is just taking beyond far more than it is giving at the moment. Then on another hand, what else can I do that makes any sense. I haven’t produced new work in 2 years and these small, innocence to begin with but paralysing and suffocating at worst, keeps asking me if I ever will again. And I don’t know what to answer them, or if I even want to, so I just keep on ignoring them until they are silent or the opposite, shouting their frustration right at me. Intellectual exhaustion is my diagnose and oblivion the cure.