hey look, my first lawrence arms reference (i stand corrected; this is actually my second, thank you jordan)

i knew it would happen. here's a blank page all over again. knowing it was going to come didn't seem to help me avoid it any more than it ever has in the past. every little piece of my life is a metaphor for the rest, and my writing is no different. inspiration will hit eventually, and it will last for a night, or maybe a whole day, or even a whole week or month or year, but eventually it will fade as quickly as it came.

perhaps it's just a consequence of living the intensely overdramatic life, but nothing ever comes gradually to me. i began the last paragraph by saying that i knew it would happen, but, like i said, knowing it was going to happen doesn't mean it didn't surprise me. because, like everything in my life, it came fast and hard. it's very cliche to say that one's life is like a rollercoaster, but there's a reason people say that: it's a very accurate metaphor (i guess technically that's a similie). i go up, i go down, i go faster and faster, i'm burning the gears, my tears are streaming back into my ears. i constantly refer to myself as bipolar; perhaps histrionic is the more accurate term, but either way, my interpretation of my own life is the only one that i'm going to follow, and if that's the case, well then, i guess my life is like a rollercoaster.

so what's the point of this rambling? didn't i begin by talking about how i was having trouble writing again? oh look, there, i've written a little bit. here's hoping i keep at it.

and here's an edit before i go to bed from something i found on slashdot and thought "that's awesome:"
Study Finds 1/3 of All Studies Bullshit