Dear Journal,

I tried to fix my wonky sleeping schedule and still woke up around 5 AM, no thanks to the utterly whacked-out dream I had.

I should get a license or something and find a shooting range. With the frequency that firearms pop up in my dreams maybe if I learn to use them they'll stop. Who takes an assault rifle to go mug somebody? Honestly.

... I don't really know what to make of the "brb dying of some plague or another" section of that dream, though.

Basically, my subconscious is really whacked-out and I have no words.

In other news, I can't draw anymore. It's not a matter of not having time or resources because I certainly have enough of both, but... I don't know. It's just not working. I don't think it's even "artist's block," it's more like it used to be... well, not easy, but it was kind of like writing. I put my pencil down and something came out eventually.

It's just not happening now, though. My writing's kind of suffering too, actually. I'm wondering if I'm doing something to kill my creative energy, because that's really the only explanation I can think of.

... Maybe it's going to my dreams and that's why I'm dreaming about a guy with an assault rifle trying to make me hand over my money.

No love for my misdirected imagination,
-トモコ