happiness made me a bore

“for fuck’s sake, can you not write about anything else besides money and your daughter?”

an acquaintance who used to heavily blog (that was how i met him) commented in yahoo a couple of days back.  he felt that i have wandered too far away from my signature tone and the talk about financial freedom and raising a kid is choking boredom down his throat.

“happiness sucks the creative juices out of me.” i said in a matter-of-fact tone, if that was possible when typed electronically in a yahoo window.

i do feel that is true.  i feel that i am generous with my pain but selfish with my contentment.  and my apparent state of happiness has been the driving force on why there is so little literary piece (i call my entries as such and do not really care less if anybody things otherwise) about anything else.

i just cannot fucking write when i am happy. i tried helplessly in the past and failed.  i had a theory that i blog because it helped me vent out my frustrations, my unreasonable fears, my temporary irrationalities and exaggerated elations.  and that it is cheaper than putting a psychiatrist on a retainer.
and that, at the present, i truly feel i do not have any.

okay, perhaps, i am lying. i do still have them. and if i have to really be honest, there is actually a whole lot of things to rant about, to dramatize over, to publicize for anybody to read.

but perhaps, i have realized that i could hurt some people if i write about all the things i want to write about.

and there is really no fun in that.


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