I sit down with my drawing pad, my pencils, my pens, my stiffened brush. I turn on the lamp and take a glimpse at the porcelain cat I bought as a joke. I put my forearms on top of the clever Ikea table that folds and unfolds according to my modern personal needs. I adjust my bottom on the uncomfortable chair, cross my legs, then put them straight again. I shuffle through my music as if browsing for inspiration but the collection is too diverse.I'm forcing myself to be creative. To do something clever, something artistic.But my head is a sprinkler instead of a quiet stream. Thoughts bounce erratically: the new gas and electricity bill, the ...