...Or get off the pot..

One of the reasons i started doing all this was to see what i had inside my head, often times little, but somewhere i felt there was a spark. Your parents always tell you you can be anything you want to be, no doubt that line of shit has been spoonfed for generations. Aside from the fact that im aware that i in fact "c'na be ever'tin" and accept that, I want to be something. And since i've always written i thought i might try working towards that end, make a really serious hobby out of it (unless it pays the bills) so I went out and bought this years canadian writers market, a mini tape recorder, and dug out a ream of fine printer paper. Nothing! I have no real ideas, i'm drawing a blank, i'm not flowing or feeling anything. I always seemed to write my best when i'm emotional or amplified in some way, hapiness doesnt inspire me to artisitc triumph, more that it inspires me to relax and not worry about anything. When i was a teen and fraught with girl troubles and being grounded, getting good grades (that's a lie, i just wanted to pass) that's when i was a torrential shit storm of ideas about love, life, and all the great muses of time. Not now, i have a good life, a great wife, and everything i need to survive. It's a blues man's nightmare, nothing to be sad about....