Tell Me A Story About Giant Pigs

I've been trying to write a post for days, something about the exciting bits of my weekend and the fact that I finished my two hardest midterms and that my feet were completely wrecked from Capoeira. Something smilely about not going to bed until 5am or a rant about stupid disorganized theater people or a thank you note to Trixie who called at exactly the right time without even knowing it. You know, some part of my life that isn't the heartbreak of having been apart from Rob for six months and knowing that that isn't going to change, or the incredible sadness that sits in my chest when I think about the fact that I can't make a relationship work. Some inspirational outlook on life like, "We are explorers on the road of life. You can't expect there to be hot and cold running water at all the stops along the way," (Glen Huser, Skinnybones & the Wrinkle Queen). Or even just a squee about the fact that I now have seasons one and two of INVADER ZIM care of one fabulous new friend. But I have been severely lacking in inspiration. Or motivation. Or somthing else useful like that. Somehow everytime I sit down to write I get about a sentence out before I go all little plastic castle and then it's just a lost cause. I mean well, honest, I just appear to have no brain. Maybe it's the fact that I need to dye my hair again or that I just haven't been getting enough sleep lately. I suppose it could have something to do with overscheduling my self constantly or the large amounts of caffeine that I've been ingesting. And there's always a distinct possibility that I'm just crazy. Yea, that's probably it. Ah well, back to the fishbowl...