reOrganized

I've sorted out my desk space to fit my Underwood Blue-Baby next to my ever-illuminated computer screen. It's a bit inconvenient to type, as I'm slanted (pictures to come, surely), but it helps that I'll have to actually MOVE to try and type on my computer. I can only hope that it will at least stem my ever-present desire to procrastinate, especially since I can still look at the screen, instead of trying (and failing) to ignore the contraption completely.

While I'm on the topic of organization, I'm trying to get my mind sorted out. 6 more days until NaNo, 6 more days to get inspiration. But where does my sliver of metallic mind-taste come from? Depression.

Yea sure, I'm cool with the whole "tortured artist" stereotype, but I like to think that 95% of artists who claim to "suffer" for their art are liars. Unfortunately, my ideas are being twisted in the murky depth of my subconscious (or, where ever my moods are coming from nowadays), because I seem to be falling into that inevitable "suffering" trap. I can't write unless I'm suffering.

Seriously.

I know, it sounds asinine this far into the game, but unless I'm so anxious/depressed/emotionally deranged that I'm ready to a) throw up, or b)start some crazy habitual bloodletting for those hallucinatory endorphin rushes, I got nothing.

Intelligent thought? No way.
Witty remark? Notta.
Anything to say at all? Duuuuuuuuur.

You get the idea. It's horrible, and I know there are many a writer who would tell me, "force yourself to write," and the obvious "good writers can write in any state of mind, you just have to DO it," etc. And to all those writer who will look through their noses at me for being "one of those" creative types: pooh-pooh on you.

I'm a creature of habit, and ever since high school, when depression was cool and melancholy got you points in the emo-kid crowd, I've only ever written when upset (and boy, I was upset all the time). This makes me worry. Am I going to be stuck in a creative void every time I try to write when not the least bit emotionally disturbed? Am I going to have to resort to dark, sad, pre-college music to get in the mood? Will I have to stop drinking caffeine? Will I have to do drugs? OH GOD, WILL I HAVE TO HAVE EMO-KID HAIR AGAIN?!

I digress. What I'm trying to say is that it seems I've fallen into the "suffering for art" category, and I don't know if I want to laugh at the irony (as, I hate the stereotype to the nth degree), or put up, shut up, and just go through a self-induced literary boot camp--which will probably not happen before NaNo lest I hurt myself.

Suggestions? Critiques? Words of wisdom?

O Holy writings God(s), You're unworthy child is lost!