I always think that art is a form of sacrifice.
Yes, I wanted too much. This is long-lasting. It’s
origin long ago.
Now, I’m disenchanted with my failure.
One has to make some kind of sacrifice to achieve anything.
If I want to paint, I can’t be watching all the movies, playing a
guitar, cooking dishes, figuring out neuroscience mysteries,
reading the best books, and baking the best cakes. As my days
lessen, I feel the pressure mounting. On top of that my father
is a nut, prevents me from really getting into any kind of rhythm
during the day, ruins my sleep. More pressure, more stress.
It seems I need a new game plan. Time may be long, but
moves quickly. And of course, my health is flailing. 60 minutes
was airing a segment about Raphael Nadal. That guy is amazing.
So many injuries and so many triumphs. He’s fun to watch too.
I’ve been taking bacopa monneri recently. A slew of effects. It can
really control me. Woozy knockout punch, and I don’t know why. If
a drug is meant to make someone relax, but the taker doesn’t want
that, I think you have a problem.
It’s listed as a 5-HT1A partial agonist I have read it cures insanity.
This apparently, can reduce serotonin, but some science says it
increases serotonin. I know they don’t really understand. So
much conflicting science.