"The medicine is not a wonder drug."
I've known that from the start, but it's recently become more apparent.
It still works, and it is still pretty damn wonderful to me.
But it only works when I want it to work, and my lack of motivation is stronger than ever.
I am just so overwhelmed.
There is so much to do.
My growing lack of interest in my chosen field of study is certainly not helping things, either.
I just want to write all the time now.
The scratch of my pen on the paper is the most exquisite sensation.
Sometimes I write just to hear that sound.
I still enjoy doing the math from time to time. I can admit that there is something deeply exhilarating about manipulating the numbers.
But there is just something about the pencil; something missing.
There is a peculiarity about the ink...
Something mysterious and ethereal and profoundly attractive.
Something that, for my sanity's sake, I dare not attempt to quantify.
I need this too much right now to understand it.