Coffee and crumble

Hello, it's been a while. Been reading in Dutch a lot, so this will take some getting used to again. Tentative. As I recall, I wrote when there was progress, on a high, or/and when there was a working computer nearby. Right now I am at a low point and trying to write from there is harder. But I used to do that all the time, so why not now?
My next key was and still is "The Holographic Universe". Been using a highlighter a lot, very unlike me, especially in the first scientific chapters. It clarifies a lot.
Anyway. Changes were happening and I even started painting again, but that's come to a grinding halt. That so frustrates me, to have something rare and beautiful, a real gift, and not be able to use it.
Since last week I've been walking again, knock on wood. In the mornings, one hour walks. Then I come home, drink a litre of coffee, eat a piece of banana-datebread and read, watch tv and try to paint. Now I use the computer instead of painting until inspiration strikes again.
Hopefully this time the routine sticks. Every time I try to create a routine something happens, usually my feet start bleeding or hurting. Routine does not come naturally to this creature.
It remains hard to be completely honest to myself. This is probably true for most people, but I am not most people so I must be vigilant and stern. It's so easy NOT to investigate. Luckily I've made snooping a routine, the pathways of snooping are well-worn in my brain so it's easier to stumble into the habit when I happen to think about it.
All those questions I used to have as a kid, all that curiosity, it pays off in the end. If you stop asking questions you stop living. (Enlightened beings not included in this statement.)
When I dig deeper into motives and hidden thoughts I sense the fear. But what is there to be afraid of? I have decided to not be that anymore, so there's no need to fear discoveries. With 'that' I mean someone who feels sorry for herself, blames people for misery and pain and portrays herself as a helpless victim/brave sad hero.
So without even thinking about it much I tell myself not to fear, it's okay. I am 100% responsible for my life. I have made that decision so what discoveries could possibly scare me? Are there still places in my mind too scary and dark to venture into quite yet?
Having said that, it's amazing how much debris and darkness is created by a few years of pain and programming as a kid.

The sun is shining through the window, birds are eating the balls of seeds I hung in the hedge, there's a hot cup of coffee next to me, The Whole of the Moon was just on the radio (one of my favourite songs) and a cat is purring on my couch with her face in the sun. It's not my cat but she visits me every day.
Yet that sinking feeling in my stomach.
This too will pass. And many more reassurances to choose from. But beneath the reassurances lies something else, an unwillingness to live through this, to be like it is, to hurry things up, to 'improve' the situation. Haste haste haste.
There are many reasons to be impatient, many good reasons. There's a good reason to be patient. Impatience does not hurry things along. It does not speed things up. Does this stem from a fear that patience slows things down? I put so much pressure on myself. I must walk, paint, bake, write, progress, visit et cetera and all within a certain time frame. Or else?
Or else what? It takes longer? Longer than what? I'm only fighting myself. I fabricate so many deadlines for myself it's no wonder I crumble. This takes as long as it takes.