I haven’t written for a very long time.
I don’t mean just in here; I haven’t written anything lately that wasn’t a class-required, double-spaced ejaculation of standardized thought. I could tell you that I’ve been too busy to form up anything creative, and then I could also tell you that I recently won the lottery and am currently filling the back of my silver Escalade with boxes of Chicken In A Biscuit, as either way I’d be lying my ass off.
An angry Earthworm once said, “The problem is, the problem is… well, the problem is that there is no problem!”
And that’s the reason I can’t think to write anything beautiful. Because at the moment, life is really, really good.
I’m making loads of friends here at Long Beach State. I like my classes, and my school even. I feel more like myself every day.
And I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
The best things I’ve written, the pieces that I read years later and wonder what muse inspired me that day, are the things that I wrote furiously, and wearily, only taking breaks to crumple in the middle of the floor under a blanket and hate feelings.
Writers can be such curious creatures. For now, I’ll choose happiness, which in turn means you, dear reader, may be looking at this entry for a while.