jacques be nimble, jacques be quick

i find that often enough i fuel myself on stupid reasons, like im going to skip with the USB wire, because its long enough. or, maybe my chocolate body-wash tastes as good as it smells, because it smells so good. or lemon-wild cherry nerds can be lunch because they are tasty AND colorful.

see, the thing is, we all come up with excuses for anything, it just takes a shovel of creativity and a basic lack of things to do on a general basis. but i have not been able to figure out why, exactly, i am at an exalted loss of inspiration. is my life truly that unstimulated that all my ideas and words must remain bottled up, or rather caged in this very convoluted, but less so everyday, brain of mine?

sometimes i think i compensate my inability to tell stories with very long sentences.

i read somewhere, that 'they' are on 'their' way to link depression to creativity. yeah, that makes sense, of course. but the knowledge of that made me feel somehow abandoned by these 'them' that i talk about with an eerily eulogized familiarity. happy people write dont they? i asked my self, foolishly craving approval from myself, while actually craving it from my mother who never prided that i tried, and even if she does now, wont make a difference because i will constantly overanalyze and feel a tad bit worthless.

i replied, yeah, happy people write, alright. but are you happy?

shucks.

sometimes this limbo feel threateningly purgatory-ish.