I feel like a blob taking up space. I want to create. I want to be inspirational. I want to show everyone what I can do. But my faulty chemistry has other plans. Instead, since you're a failure it says, let's give up on that and sit on the couch watching movies with other people that have fulfilled their dreams. It continues its diatribe about how we can wallow in self pity and have an excuse to eat. Which will make us fatigued and in the end much less productive. Fack off you wanka! I say. BuT Ohhh it says with a low growling chuckle, I'm not going anywhere. And then the inspiration fades. The dreams die. And I am here again...in that place. That fucking place.
I am strong though. Because this will pass. As it does. And I will create. Eventually.
