perhaps that will get done

can't sleep tonight. my mind is just racing around too fast, for no particular reason. sometimes when i'm just lying there i feel as though i can see thousands of paintings into the future, and i know i'll never live that long. i can make tiny drawings and sketches to fill every page of every book on every shelf in this room, but you can only make a finite amount of well-thought out fully-realized finished projects that speak clearly for you before your body dies.
i get ideas a lot, ideas come to me very easily. when my creativity is at peak level i can dream up lots of things. i usually think to myself "someday perhaps that will get done." but there are so many of these thoughts, even if one pushes hard and is privledged enough to be able to work at realizing them, they will not all come to fruition.
the daily struggle is getting these things to pop out from under the soil. the soil is rich, but growing things is not at all easy. the dream is an endless forest, thick and thriving, bursting at its boundaries. the reality is a rich bed of soil filled with seeds, patches of a three-inch tall canopy of sprouts turn black to green.