piece of shit

it's 1:31 in the morning, with a noisy blue super fan (don't know what's so super about it) at my left, and i'm wierdly (weirdly) writing again. well, maybe not. let's just assume i'm writing. it's been too long since i last write just for leisure. i missed it so much. the emotions just spilling out and you can feel your blood rushing, your brain so active, thoughts,ideas just flowing freely and moving swiftly out of your head and it's like your trying your best to catch it all let all your ideas fit in a paper.

well, it was different for me this past days or months i guess. ideas just suddenly dried up inside my head. something just seem so different. i don't know if i can call it a writer's block. i'm not even sure if i'm a writer. am i?

hostility. indifference. doubts. i guess i blew a nerve in my brain that spilled my creative juices directly into my ears. and it turned into a gooey ear wax.hehe. maybe. that's cool. well. whatever happened. i feel different now. i don't even know what to write. i guess it's because of my "loser" ego.

which is which? practical or idealistic? i can't even organize my thoughts. i just think im so naive.
i easily believe on what i read on novels. it kills me. forcing myself to live in different worlds. worlds that were created by idealistic minds. or are they just talented? this what's all been bothering me i guess. and it trapped me inside myself. slowing down. afraid that being to idealistic would eat me. or am i really? i am. yet was always forced by my environment to be practical. i guess they did make me one.

anyway this doesn't make any sense. thanks for reading.