I'm still on a quest for writing inspiration, and failing miserably. I've been kind of sloughing through (I know it's not an exactly right expression, but it's close enough and good enough, and I think I'm coining it) everything I write lately, feeling pretty uninspired (as mentioned in the previous blog entry). And it's still happening.
Frustrating? Yes. Inevitable? Also yes. You can only write for so long before hitting a wall, or so I've discovered.
Would you like to know what I had for dinner tonight? Too bad. That would be an easy fix to this problem (and, for those that know me, would likely lead to a good tangent about something potentially very uninteresting yet anecdotal from my past). Better luck next time digging that information out of me.
I wish I were Poe-ish and could just rely on Opium to fuel my dry periods. Unfortunately, I have to be part of the non-drug-addled masses. Not that I'm not curious, but I'm already too old for experimentation.
Hear that, over 32s? It applies to other areas too. Stop experimenting and get on the productive ball already. You're just too old, and you're not missing anything. You heard it here first.
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