complicated

Last night I couldn’t sleep. I decided to bring my guitar to bed, and miraculously, after more than a year, I was able to write two songs. The words just flowed like a stream, like I was just writing in my journal, only the words rhymed, and the music just came out of nowhere, effortlessly.
I am grateful to learn that I haven’t lost it yet. All I’ve been doing for the past year was facing the music, not making it. And I believe all these events and feelings bottled up during my stay in Dubai will all be known to a few select people with the strum of my guitar.
I missed hurting my back from slouching on the guitar all night, thinking of what to write next, or playing my newly-composed song over and over again, trying to listen to each chord, if one needed to be replaced or removed altogether.
However when I’m writing a song it always means that I am fighting or expressing my misery. Why was I miserable? Maybe it was just plain boredom, a feeling that doesn’t mean anything, just an indication that I have to move my ass.
Today after work I am going to the gym to see if I’ve still got that tae bo super power. I miss working out really, but working out, I suppose, won’t be that fun and simple anymore because of a weird acquaintance that goes to the same gym and attends the same gay classes.
Why is there nothing simple in this world anymore? Why do I always have to have deeply-rooted reasons for everything? Why is Freud so crazily believable?
If I am bored, I just want to feel bored. If I am fat, that means I have to work out.
Each feeling is an end in itself, not a result of an underlying emotion triggered by an event in 1986.
If everything is so complicated then we’re all bound to be paranoid.
Am I getting close to answering my questions about myself?
Don’t think so.