I cannot explain why, but I haven't written anything of substance in nearly two weeks. I haven't worked in my book nor have I even bothered to carry it around with me. I don't like slumps like these. I find myself so satisfied with the routine of my life that I have nothing new to say.
Maybe if I wanted to write I would just have to switch from green tea back to black coffee. It seems that the coffee drinkers are the ones harboring the plagued minds and neverending discontent with the world, and because my bodyhas finally adjusted to the completely differen caffiene of green tea, I harbor only the happiness of good health. I was excited when Bob told me the positive effects of green tea on one's body and mind, so I picked up three cups o the shit a day and fell in love. Not just with the tea, but with everything.
Suddenly life was perfect. I had everything in the world but the need to question any of my happiness, which I guess is the element of my personality that always continued to make me feel like I had something to say. For the first time, I seemed happy with everything. I started losing weight beautifully and started forming a body unlike any I'd ever had before, so confidently, splendidly sexy that I was comfortable buying lingire and wearing it around the house for fun.
I found myself more and more in love with the boy in my bed every night, so astounded by how long it has been and how much time I'd spent with him, and how I had not started to grow sick of him. With the encounter of other possibilities and the confrontation of our status, I had learned just how amazing this boy really was and just how unnecessary promiscuity was. I was so crazed by how every minute I spent with him was satisfying and pleasuring. Waking up in his arms in the morning was a feeling of fulfillment I'd never felt with anyone else.
Suddenly I was productive enough to finally face my fears of the discount furniture store in Emeryville, California and conquer my need for my own room. Within a couple of days of shopping for poorly-crafted, solid-colored, retro-wannabe, assembly-required furniture, I had a nook. I had my own bed, my own sheets and blankets and pillows, my own desk and lamp, my own artowkr on my own walls, and my own closet for my own possessions. Although it was the end of an era as I moved out of the 8-foot octogon bed, it was time to turn our entire apartment into a canvas of our individual artistic expression.
I picked up cocaine in the form of a Japanese video game that plagues one's dreams with blinking arrows and bumping Asian remixes. "Dance Dance Revolution!" it screamed, and I danced and danced until my new love for excersise was a revolution in my feet.
I grew happier and happier with my city that I started to get that infamous feeling of fascination every morning when I woke up and realized how impossibly lucky I was. I wanted to explore everywhere and everything, and the start of these massive missions only fueled my excitement.
Even though the every-day has become a routine, I cannot deny how this bag of leaves has branded me with contentment and, dare I say, happiness. But despite the fulfillment of happiness, I was not aware it would serve as the kind of anti-depressant that turns your mind into a block. Therefore the absence of conflict leaves me with nothing new to say. It's ok, these slumps usually end.