UNINSPIRATION.

Maybe it's because it's raining, or because my muscles are stiff with cold, or because I've listened to this Cornershop album too many times. I don't know. But I feel as if my brain has been pulverized into a mushy substance, swallowed by the monster of Bland-Land, and then spit back up again through my ear and back into my empty cranium where it's sadly rattling away and making the sound that a single dime makes when it's sitting, lonely, in your tin can bank. In other words, I'm running short of ideas.

I feel as if I am living in a world surrounded by talented people, like shining pieces of gold, and I'm that rock that accidentally got mixed in with the bunch. Why have I been placed in this community of wonderful writers? Why do I feel like none of my work is worth entering into a contest? Because it's not! Because my work is unoriginal, it's bland, it's unpleasant, and it never turns our the way I want it to. I look at my work and say, blech, you are bad. It's like white bread - fake, with no nutritional value and full of fluff and air. Why am i using so many analogies? I want to write something subtle and impressive but what comes out is like an attempt to copy someone else's work that just missed the mark. No ideas are coming to me and I bang my head on the table in such grief. How do these writers think of such lovely subjects to write about? I'm in a funk and I can't get out.

I need to eat something fattening.