I’m convinced that I’ll never write anything that matters if I never see anything that matters. And I spend the bulk of my day fighting traffic and having to hear about how dangerous this thing is:
And doing work that people only care about long enough to put it in their performance reviews.
So I’m supposed to then come home and write amazing, poignant, riveting, soul-shattering songs and sonnets? And I wonder why it doesn’t come.
I really thought going back to school would be the answer. But all it’s going to do is create more problems. I really should just find something else to fixate on.
Maybe I could save the world by creating a safer filing cabinet stool. Then we can all finally stop living in fear.
World peace and cures for AIDS, cancer and hunger will come right along behind it. Like a perfect line of little baby ducks.
How’s that for poignant?