I decided I would work, work lots, no matter how I felt I would be productive. I also decided that I would try not to think too hard about why I was working and what it all meant, this way I wouldn’t get mad and stop working. I made lots but it all seemed to be clutter. a few things stood out but did not connect with each other and I could not find ways to make them so, so I kept working and changing and painting and drawing and sculpting and doing and nothing much made sense. I would have an idea on the spot and rush to make it or draw it, or draw it and then make it, But it never quite turned out exactly how I had planned, never quite succeeding in my own head but some looked good and served a purpose, but as soon as it was made it was nothing to me anymore which is strange and demoralizing because then that idea would stop and I would leave it behind. Then I would see something, art, film, animation, a tree and I would have an idea and I would rush to make, draw, destroy it and so on. The record of this would be in my sketchbooks in which I kept a record of making drawing and all these ideas and they seemed to flow and I enjoyed viewing them sometimes and at other times I felt like it looked like a book of chaos, my drawings were naive and now took on a world of fantasy, dark sometimes, which I would like and sometimes they looked like children’s story book characters, which at first I found amusing to reproduce and then found incredibly sickly. So I decided just to keep working, no matter how I felt. then I would be productive and not get mad and not stop.