Inspiration, or lack thereof

I think I’m horribly uninspired. Maybe it’s because I’ve stopped thinking. Does this even make me human anymore? More importantly, does this even make me, ME anymore?

I am re-reading Sophie’s world. I’m hoping that it will give me some answers. Or maybe I should stop waiting for answers to come to me. However, I don’t want to stop asking questions. I have, for the past year or so, and I don’t like this at all. Life’s been easier this way, undoubtedly, but what’s fun about easy right? Haha, I just realized how weird that sounds. Oh well.

The point is, this year really has been… uncomplicated, by my standards (SO FAR). It hasn’t been an easy year, no, but I’ve refused to let it get complicated because that’s not a path I want to go down again. But I think I eventually realized that being complicated is an inherent part of me. I mean, I’m not all for being one of those deep, brooding (wannabe intellectual?) writers, but maybe, just maybe, that’s what I am? Come to think of it, I don’t know what I am anymore. Perhaps I never did.

I am me. Let’s leave it at that for now.