a revelation (degenerating into despair)

i am no good at writing. i think about it. i ponder it. but it doesn't happen gracefully anymore. there might be bathtub moments of introspective reverie in which words flow from my mind with a mellifluousness (see, i wanted to say mellifluity) that no longer occurs when the whale is beached.
nowhere is this more evident than in academic papers requiring that i expound on textbook knowledge with my own thoughts, opinions, and understanding of civilization. left to my own devices, rarely do i opine on ANYTHING!
i think, but my thoughts are globs of dough that i seldom stick in the oven. when was the last time i buttered the biscuit of mature mental reverie?
my thoughts are those of a child and i wish do the desires of a child. (john 8:44)
my posture is deplorable. there is a nagging itch on the back of my scalp that causes constant fiddling and scratching around. i feel like the kid the obligatory "lice letter" referred to anonymously:
dear parent,
please be advised that some piece of white trash filth has infiltrated our school and exposed us all to disgusting head bugs. clearly his or her family hasn't bathed in weeks and lives in a shit hole. thanks a lot, asshole.

principal ------

ughh. there is nothing worse than being untalented AND itchy. it's positively humiliating.

boo hoo
amber