Amazingness

So today in a fit of madness and/or inspiration and/or pique, I wrote a short story and it is freaking, I kid you not, genius. I was at the coffee shop, writing, like the little pretentious indie emo kid that I am, and was texting my friend to discuss some issues that we are both going through (yes, I am being particularly vague, not to try to catch anyone's interest, but rather because I'm not going to go into it here) and I just started writing. It was amazing. When I finished, I texted him, "Holy crap, ______, I am like a literary genius and I didn't even have to take any drugs."

Then I packed up my stuff and drove home and typed it all up and then I read it out loud to myself and was so impressed that I had to come on here to inform the world (also known as no one) of the miracle that I had created. I wonder if this is how Shakespeare* felt. Or man, not even Shakespeare, I wonder if this is how my creative writing professor at university felt because if that's the case, I understand, now. I totally understand.

Of course, it's probably trite and rubbish but it's kind of not because I say so. Or it kind of is because I say so?

Upon further reflection, this requires more thought.

*I am not comparing myself to Shakespeare, at all, I just used his name because everyone knows Shakespeare, and it's almost cliché but I don't care because I am a freaking artist and can bend the rules on a whim.