Sandwiches and Dirty Laundry

Why are there no songs about just feeling pretty okay and content? Prozac takes all the art out of life. Sometimes it's worth it to be a nervous wreck just to feel the depth of emotion that inspires one to create. All I create these days are sandwiches and piles of laundry.

Although something can be said for both of those things. One might argue that there is art/beauty in the disorder of dirty laundry piles and messy rooms. Or that creating a great sandwich is a real art. Not sure what they would say about creating a mediocre PBJ.

Balance is the key to real happiness. Neuroses are the key to real art. Or it is at least one of them (Please note: I'm not attempting to inspire an elitist esoteric debate about how real art is defined.)

Art is emotion. Emotional roller coasters are distressing, but there is something beautiful in being at the peak of both happiness and depression. To ride the middle is like riding the boring train ride that circles the amusement park and comes right back to where you started.

I just want to draw a picture or write an incredible wordsmithing masterpiece that portrays exactly how I feel. But these days I only feel stable, rational, content, and unemotional. And there is no art in that.