Threat level: jacinthe

Let's not beat around the bush -- I am concerned for my inner child.

Unlike many abusive parents however, my weapon of choice is more subtle. I am starving that little ingrate to death.

Between looking for jobs, not working and/or working jobs I don't particularly enjoy, there seems to be unrelenting regression in my abilities to create, think, write, imagine, sing, play music, cook, finger paint, sculpturade in Cranium or, in general just do anything involving an iota of original thought.

It is a tide I am struggling to stem, and it does not feel to me like it is merely a trickle. I feel my creativity (and will to be creative) is... you know... leaving me. God, I can't even think of a witty metaphor to describe a very strong exodus. Something water related ideally I suppose, but, you know, whatever.

Fuck it.

My point is, a concerted effort is being undertaken. This is like one of those civic projects where a municipality plunks boatloads of taxpayer money to maintain and refurbish a historical building.

More reading. More music. More more more culture and art and things that will pique my curiosity beyond what songs will be sung on the next episode of Glee.

Also, I'm going to get good at moonwalking. Don't ask why, I'm just going to do it alright?

You should too.