a few more crummy words

when i try to write something, i can only think over and over to myself that i can think of nothing to write. each topic that i encounter i reject as it leads closer and closer to the obvious conclusion that there is no longer anything where previously flowed a fount of freedom that gushed down through me until i could satisfied with a few crummy words put down on a page. and even now, to look back upon those crummy words, i am hit with the conclusion that they are in fact just a bunch of crummy words and that perhaps my fount is still flowing as before while i have simply puckered up my lips to a previously unnoticed sour scent or bitter taste. this is like how i have once again decided that i do not enjoy drinking tap water. maybe that's why.

maybe i no longer have hope. when i read crummy words now, i can catch a faint feeling of hope in things to come; i believe that i had once ambition and desire, and those things drove my hands to a keyboard to put down nonsense steeped in fickle feelings. when did i ever have a want so strong so as to not feel ashamed in broadcasting it? there must have been some great goal worth achieving that i put a great deal of stock into; a goal that could move mountains, or at least organize my thoughts. if this is the case, then i think to myself, 'alas, i am finished for i no longer dream; i am lost to the drudgery of routine without change.' i must then find something to seek.

it could also be that i am too busy. there is a great list of tasks that i must accomplish, and on the column right from this list is a list of dates or times for each task at which time the respective task must be completed. this list is the bane of my existence. though i believe that i work more efficiently and effectively under pressure, i prefer to have time to think and mull over my options when taking any course of action. this dislike is worsened greatly when the task is to me of trivial importance. such tasks include any and all actions related to academics; perhaps a better way to phrase the situation would be to say that all the tasks that have any sort of serious impact on my well-being or on my future are the tasks that i abhor. this is most likely related to my lack of hope. hope comes to me when i do not have any reason to hope; when i have tried hard and put forth an appreciable amount of effort, my hope turns to complacency and from there one can only fall down.

instead of saying that i am too busy, i should say that i am too distracted. my words come to me when i have had time to ruminate over events and ideas in my life that spark emotional reaction. if i must always worry about schoolwork or dread the thought of having more to do, then i will never have the presence of mind to relax and think. my mind will ever be moving from the present to the coming future which soon becomes the present. i think it a cruel mistake to make two meanings of the word 'present' to be what has already come and is going and a gift. there is no great gift in the present because there can be no hope in what has already come.

having taken the time now to force myself to think, i am beginning to regret the time spent here. the more i ponder why i have no ability to write creatively, the more i delve into what i find most depressing about my life. i do not enjoy dwelling on saddening things, as this gets me sad (logically so... but i believe that there are those who enjoy dwelling on saddening things and enjoy being unhappy. a most masochistic paradox.) this would mean that my plan to provoke creative writing through thought has backfired, leaving me with less hope and more depression, and no creative writing. i can only conclude that there is not enough hope to be had in my life. a sort of self-perpetuating hopelessness. peachy.

what a terrible way to end this post.