Stating the Obvious

I think about drawing everyday. Yet I never do it. And when I do force myself to put pencil or pen to paper, the creation that is resultant is always stilted, and all the worlds that I ambition to create in my head falls into dust of the realization that I really have no skill. If I manage to convince myself that skill can be acquired, and I force myself to stare at the daunting mountain of the white page, I am faced with a monster which is impossible to surmount with sheer bullheadedness: A severe lack of imagination. Sometimes my dreams of being another Moebius or working in the concept art department of Weta Workshop or Massive Black are in the danger of disintegrating because of reality forcing itself in. And if they disintegrate what am I let with? I am nothing if not for my day dreams. These are the things that make me stick with a day job and not just give it all up (screw subsistence) and just do whatever. These are the things which tide me through the crippling loneliness of adulthood and not having too many friends.
Yet, I fear the dream is breaking. I don't do nearly enough to make the dream stick together. And one day all that I'll be left with is dust. And that day is not far off.