Consolation Post

Hello, readers! 
I'm sorry I deleted those music videos :'(
So, to show that I really am terribly sorry, here is a consolation update. 
This is the most personal abstract short I've ever written. 
Please appreciate it as such. 

My mind is a lonely place. I can never actually show someone something I’m thinking about: just tell them in words. Don’t get me wrong, though: words are lovely. There just aren’t enough of them. And sometimes I feel like I have a whole planet in my head, but I always remember: oh yeah, I have several universes holed up in there, not just one planet. Silly me. You can’t type with one hand unless you’re really good at it. In that case, I salute you! …With one hand. Punctuation is so unique and so…so cultured. I wrote something and put it on the internet so I would remember it, but then I can’t find it, and the last time I looked in a mirror I was laughing so hard that the mirror cracked up with me and I got seven years of bad luck. Poor mirror. Having to look at me all the time. Maybe it’s gone to a better place, one where beautiful ladies in shimmering silk gowns dance slowly across the lacquered floor with invisible men. Not just any invisible men, though: invisible gentlemen. Why do I insist upon this small courtesy? Because although there aren’t enough words, the ones we have can be very harmful and impolite if not used properly. I believe that you should have a license to use certain words, just like you have to have a license to drive a car. Why? Because some people don’t know how to use cars or words correctly, and they get hurt or hurt other people. Grammar is not a privilege, it is a right, something that we must use to get about our daily lives. How do I know this? Because I was born with the ability to make great stories, and to make great stories, you must have correct grammar. With me, grammar is instinctive, so I don’t feel the need to read small, colored leather books in a dusty chair all day. Instead, I run wild all summer, looking cool and occasionally frantic. Never mind that, though, because I had a dream when I was five, not a goal or a vision, but a nighttime dream, and I had it again last night, only it made much more sense. I guess that’s because I’m older, but only in my mind and body. My soul, my spirit, my core is still about five or six. I made a decision one morning when I was that old, that I would get up and out of bed cheerfully, immediately, and without complaining. It worked, and I now get up out of bed cheerfully, immediately, and without complaining every day. I did that because I got so tired of wasting energy being grumpy and laying around half in, half out of bed. I just finished my cookie, but society tells me not to go get more because then nobody else can have a cookie. I would like to just say ‘not my problem’ and get more anyway, but I wasn’t raised that way, and I can’t break habits that easily. I think this is the most personal I’ve ever gotten when writing abstractly, and it just felt so natural, like laying in the grass on a hot day or taking a drink. My soul is a beautiful glass pitcher, and the more water I pour out, the more flows into me. That’s just how I work. I’m going to say goodbye now, but remember one thing: Creativity is like a small child. If you don’t want it to grow up into a spoiled brat, discipline it, exercise it, and give it rules. That’s what I did, and I pinky promise it works.