Sad people like sad people and maybe it's because we don't want to try to be happy yet. Creative genius spawns from misery, but I find mine missing to me still. I, in a morbid way, love the miserable state that kicks my brain into gear, giving me a deep abyss of sad, deep, dark thoughts that let me splatter desperation on a page, sounding as profound as I come, my worst paper scribblings teeming with hidden meaning and secrets.
But everyone in my house is miserable, and maybe we've found a place past rock bottom where the creativity ceases to flow and motivation is a thing of the past. Getting out of bed is more work than it should be and we're feeding each other's demons. "Find someone whose demons play well with yours," they say. Well, I have, and our demons like to play instead of letting us go. One of my roommates doesn't get up and go to class? It's easier to sit around and not go as well, support in our disinterest. Also, if you can't tell, I'm really bad at blogging. I don't like telling people what I think any more than I like talking in front of people or singing in front of people or reading a presentation to people or or or...you get the point. I feel like I've lost my ability to deal with people in any capacity whatsoever...making the staying at home thing sound like a hell of a lot better plan than going to a class and having to get in groups with people I don't know and talk about things I find myself not caring about.
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