eating ube while sick....

...and other matters. Methinks I've lost my creative prose-producing mojo. My brain is but a lumpy, schlumpy mass slumped over drunk on top of my head--breathless and unconscious. My hands wish to grab hold of a pen and churn out letters, syllabi, words, anything! Just so my body feels the pulse of creative juices sloshing around the inner canals of my static veins. Alas! Everything is but a mundane, fruitless attempt at regenerating my grasp of the written word. All this, just when the clock is deafeningly ticking at my deadline for a friend's publication. Shall I jump around, knock my head into something hard that it might ignite once again the fire inside that makes the creative gears pump and grind? Shall I read, devour every bit of information and insipration I lay my hands on? Or should I give up and resort to ingesting the sweet, creamy violet treat that seemingly fills the void in my humorless, uninspired soul?

The words of a bored, senseless idiot. Bow.