Complaining

I find that I'm having a dilemma
I'm a little drunk, but I need to write.
I'm cozied up in my pajamas,
but I know that I can't yet end the night

I don't know what to write about today...
(I admit that this problem's recurring)
But my day was normal in many ways,
and I don't want a sonnet that's boring

I could make something up, but when I'm drunk
It's so hard to be very creative
I think, then I thought, and then I have thunk,
but my drunk brain's not very inventive

My sonnet is written, and some may scoff
But I see my complaining has paid off