This isn't one of those deep posts I usually write. Seriously it's a post about nothing. I just wanted to write something so my readers, those few faithful ones that seem to keep wanting to read my stuff, won't give up on me. I could act cool and pretend that I don't care if my blog is being read or not. But I do. Just a little. Just enough to make an effort to write a blog when I really have nothing to say.
My creativity side has been in a bit of a coma lately. I can't seem to think of anything new to do, and everything else is boring me. I've been reading books and watching TV series as if my oxygen intake depends on them. I seemed to have regressed to the deepest stages of being an introvert. I read and read, trying to absorb the life in the characters of the book to give me the energy to keep going. I watch shows because it manages to silence that tiny little voice belonging to my conscience saying that I should really be doing something useful.
The only reason to get up in the morning seems to be because I have to. Nothing seems to excite me anymore. I diss every idea of fun that might come my way. I criticise other people's ideas of fun yet I cannot come up with a better plan. I feel like I'm in a state of lethargy. Every step I make seems to be against the current. I feel like a sloth. The real ones, those eternally slow creatures, not Sid the Ice-Age sloth. I mean if I were like Sid, I wouldn't be half bad. He's an idiot but he sure knows how to have fun.
So maybe my aim is to move from the state of real sloth to Sid the sloth.
I aim to be Sid.
Sid, the sloth.
Sid, the cartoon character.
I aim to be an idiot cartoon character.
Oh dear. Watson we have a problem.