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I'm looking for inspiration, the real thing, the real deal, the real Tabasco, neatly packaged and shipped directly to my brain, thank you.

If you know where to find some, please contact me.
If you can sell me some, I'll pay handsomely.
If you can give it to me in unlimited shape, I make you God.

I'm not the first or the last in search of this precious thing, but boy would I like to find it. I need it more than I love food (and believe me, I do love food).
Apparently it comes almost naturally to great writers. If you have to fight too hard to get it, writing is not your vocation.

... I guess I pretty damn well missed my vocation.
Yet I love writing! More than I love food. When I write I do not think about food or eating, and believe me I'm thinking about that most of the time. No wonder all my attempts at dieting fail.

I used to love the autumn holidays. They made me want to go out and live like a gamekeeper, with a dog, a gun and a battered jacket, spotting and hunting wildlife.
Now I just hate them, because they mean 'work until you drop'. Work for school, especially. I'm not thinking in terms of 'I have a week vacation', but in terms of 'If I finish everything by Wednesday [which I won't, sadly] I'll have half a week's worth of preparing to go back to school'.

Which adult I know told me the last year was the best? Oh, that's right... About all of them! And I haven't had a year where I've wanted to throw up from sheer disgust more than this one. Even my mother thought they had us overworking. Go figure.

Worst of all is the teachers complain quality of the work has diminished over the years. Why the fuck do you think that is? It's simple logic, a fucking law of fucking nature: increase the quantity, decrease the quality. We only have so much time on our hands, if everything gets less time, well of course it's going to be less good. And they are the teachers?