this post has been modified to fit the average IQ

Rosey writes a gorgey piece, let me tell you. Check it. (To clarify any misconceptions: "gorgey" has nothing to do with a gorge and much to do with the way British people abbreviate "gorgeous").

It inspired me to sift through my own stuff. (Rosey's piece, not the way British people abbreviate gorgeous). I used to write stuff all the time. I used to enter competitions, and send stories to magazines, and do plot outlines, and character sketches. I also used to just doodle for hours on really hot days when my thoughts were slow. Then something snapped and I stopped. I don't think I've written anything worthwhile in a long time. Oh, except for perhaps my time-capsule-like letter to Nelly documenting February's adventures. I didn't mail it 'till two days ago, and she got it yesterday. Kinda surreal having her tell me about how apparently excited I was for my first date with a so-and-so. I don't remember being excited... but that's most definitely just my self-serving memory, distorting things to fit my current perceptions. Oh memory, how useless you really are in the grand scheme of things. I mean, if memory just serves to make you feel good about yourself, how are you supposed to learn anything? Anyway, I was on a rant headed in one direction, and I've definitely derailed it.
I kinda miss writing. It was therapeutic I think. Or at least it helped tire my hand and my eyes out so that I'd have to go to bed whether or not I was feeling any better about stuff. But I think I definitely hit my peak like... three years ago. I'm not nearly as quick on my feet as I used to be. I think it's partially because I stopped caring about what people think. I used to be snappy. Now I just stand there staring pathetically at people who are ambiguously insulting me, with a blank mind, and an even blanker look I'm sure... Like some brainwashed toddler who's seen one too many episodes of the Teletubbies. The worst part is that I recognize the phenomenon as it happens, but I do nothing to rectify the situation, salvage any dignity, or turn it into a moment of pure-wit and sparkling genius as I used to. I honestly just find it easier to stand there and let the drool drip out of the corner of my mouth.
You know what else it is? Besides me not caring about people, I mean? In about 11th grade, I started making jokes that people didn't get. They would literally just fly over people's heads, and I'd get weird looks... like I was the stupid, uninformed, retarded one. So, as the years wore on, I started adjusting my humor to my audience. Unfortunately, since the majority of people I come into contact with on a daily basis aren't all that quick on the uptake, my repertoire now consists of "Your mom" and "Downhill". I don't blame my co-workers, the snotfaced teens that call my house asking for my sister, the No Frills guys, or the stooges that walk my campus. I blame me. I sold out so that I wouldn't feel like a leper. Even worse: I sold out to fit in with dim, slow, thick, dense, dull, brainless people. Way to suck, D. WAY TO SUCK. (You know you suck when you start censoring conversations and emails because "they won't get it anyway.")
Now I have to contend with no creativity whatsoever. This is grand. Maybe I'll just go watch another episode of "Blind Date" and wonder "Who comes up with this stuff?". The sad bit is, I used to wonder the same thing way back when, but then it was in a smug "Man, I could come up with way better stuff" way. Now these "Blind Date" popup writer dudes are my heros.
POPUP WRITER DUDES?!?!?!?!

I'm clearly losing my mind.