Sunday afternoon...

Nothing to write about? Really? How drab can I be?

I simply cannot keep up! how horrible is this for my mental health? Should I just end it? Can't really see things picking up.
I'm young however, with an elastic mind and body that I'm convinced is really made of glass. how can things always seem so bleak? I have no clue. Where am I going and where did I come from, this is what I desperately long to know. Why can I only write when I'm under emotional distress, how hard-pressed do I have to be before I emerge gloriously? Does anyone ever come out a winner? I suppose I, as well as everyone else, would like to think so.
After fleeing the pressure I realize how over-dramatic I seem/sound. I don't understand myself. Writing, for me, I should try to avoid if I'm not already in a bad mood because it definitely fosters my bad feelings. If I should write about something awful when I'm in a good mood I'll sink. I'm empathetic like that. Perhaps I'm just pathetic....Ehh
I love people...they, like music, are amazing drugs. Each one with their own special ability for lifting your spirits...or sinking them. But one should only surround themselves with those who will facilitate the mood they'd like to feel.
Today has been unusually great. I woke up in a good mood and it has not been exorcised from me yet...I'm clinging to it desperately.