This kind of thinking (could do us in)

There must be something special about people who like blue ink. Are we blue in our moods too? Are we more philosophical? Educated? Intuitive? Or are we merely in denial of our human tendency towards black ink? And about those people who use gel pens, and pens of different colors. What about those multicolored pens that have receded to the dusty racks in souvenir shops? I have pity, also, for the forgotten pencil. It really does stick around longer in the ending. It can be erased at will; conformed to the changing mind of the artist. Oh, and paintbrushes, for those painters. But I will continue to ignore the fact that painters exist. They can do what I can not-to draw an emotion and a feeling and a world and convey it perfectly-or imperfectly-on a flat surface. I bow to you, dear artists of the colors and shapes. I am infidel to you, as one who can only form the same letters and words and sentences over and over again. I work in vain. This could do me in.