Right now I'm having some kind of episode. The last time I had one was midway through the school year, when I started contemplating how I could never do anything beneficial to the world if I all ever did was art. Now I feel as though nothing about myself or the future is certain, as- for a while, now- everything I have done, even art, which I used to love so much, has been forced. Mostly I have been able to ignore these feelings and act happy around those I care about. Mentioning them to my mom usually leads to being called "selfish" and "spoiled." Obviously, I have no reason to feel this way, but I can't help it, so I wish she would at least listen. I haven't felt passionate about anything for the longest time. I am not depressed. I have no reason to be, either. However, I have become cynical, and a cynic cannot be an artist. Art is about feelings, emotion, and love. If not an artist, what am I? What am I worth? The answer is nothing. I fear I am nothing, will die having done nothing.