Drugs and alcohol fuelled my creativity. I reasoned that if it was good enough for Hendrix then it was good enough for me but as i lay here at only five and a half hours away from a lecture I have not done an ounce of preparation for, I realise that it’s actually boredom. Boredom not because I have nothing to do, but a boredom of the real world. I’m fed up of university after a fortnight and not because I don’t want to do it, I really do, but because I know I’m meant for better things. Not to sound egotistical, but I really, really am.
So I thought I’d write about hitting a creative drought… I never actually sit there and think about what to write really, I just think about something and I’ll realise that it would be a good idea to share that with the world. I’ve been stupidly busy this past fortnight and haven’t had any of these great thoughts or realisations so I feel as though I’ve almost neglected this. It’s not my fault really, I’m just too busy but at the same time I have a huge ego and I can’t help but imagine that someone, somewhere is actually missing this pile of shit.