So Now We Are Making Rock Music

I’m at a strangely unsettled point in my life. It isn’t quite anxiety that’s bothering me—more a murky mix of worry and lethargy. I’m no longer reading or working with the same intensity as before, instead frittering my energy away on trivial things that don’t really matter. Honestly, I feel both underappreciated and quietly convinced that this might already be the best I can hope for at this stage. Where I once wrote songs to pass the time, I now doubt I could compose anything meaningful or compelling—even to myself. Yet that doesn’t make me less of an honest writer; the melodies may have faded, but the truth remains. All I can do now is write it down.

I think the dance floor is dead. So now we are making rock music.