I speak to myself sometimes. Like today. And this is what I tell me:
- Ingo, asshole, make your tax return, finally. You’ll get problems again, otherwise.
- Ingo, don’t stare out of the window, it’s not monday (of course it is).
- Ingo, stop drinking too much coffee. And quit EATING cigarettes.
- Ingo, the garden looks crap. You should cut the loan and remove the dead flowers. And you should paint the living room, finally, before it’s spring.
- Ingo, stop talking about how bad the world is. Touch your own nose, sucker.
- Ingo, you should spend more time with your family.
- Ingo, stop falling asleep in the studio.
- STOP! And do.
Really, sometimes life seems to freeze for me but everything around me is going on. Why the hell doesn’t it stop? Some TIME OUT would be nice. Just a sip of fresh air in my head.
Please, God, help me going on. Is it an artist’s syndrome? I mean: not feeling satisfied always? Do I end up like van Gogh or so? When will I ever feel complete? When does the search end? Where do I go from here? Questions popestions …
Auf Deutsch (German): Kack Tag.
