I have so much. I was convinced it would all make me happy. I've classic litterature in my bookself, including a first edition, and The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary. I've two large make-up boxes which doesn't sound like much of a muse but it has been once, maybe twice. Don't worry I won't go into detail. I've got clothes that force me to be percieved as creative. In that same closet there's a blue tin trunk. I painted it blue with blue squiggles and swirls. And inside are papers on papers of sketches. Theres canvases splashed with my ugly unfinished experiements. All these things which were once so covetted now just make my bedroom look messy. I rationalized however much i spent convinced it would make me happt but now they are just things and I'm still the same.