I haven’t met anyone or experienced anything in the last four hundred odd hours that could have stood the remote chances of throwing in some random seeds of inspiration in me.
I feel blank.
Yup. After about twenty minutes in plain, blank nothingness to drag to this line, I’m convinced I do. What am I waiting for? An angel to slide down the sky and hand me a magic wand and kiss me in the forehead !? Gosh. For God’s freaking sake.
But actually, as a matter of everyday thing, what sort of sign is it when you have checked sleep out that door on a cool, moonlit night, because you wanted to spend some time in the living room listening to Savage Garden with a bowl of hash browns, but the song that a decade earlier sent warm butter across your heart, does – nothing, now and you realize, to shitty misery, that you have been scraping that empty bowl too long.
Honestly, what are we supposed to do when the infamous inspiration is hiding under the dead? - Mine might have slipped right off my wrist.
Sorry, I’m running fatally low.
No. I just ran out, actually