Something died in me after my teenage years, some crazy flash of creativity. I wrote short stories like you wouldn't believe in high school. I'm sure they were terrible, but i wrote them just the same. I had a whole bunch of ideas. When i was a kid my best friend and i had dreams of becoming sci-fi writers, getting our books published. We imagined amazing worlds. He went on to become an artist, last i heard. I went on to become a computer programmer. Joy. Is it the medication? The hormones? Did i just "grow up"? Where did that side of me go?
Maybe if i spent my time writing with a goal instead of chronicling the endless circling inside of my head like some freakin solipsistic Daytona commentary...