I love paper.
I worked in print shops for several years when I was younger, and when I applied for the job I said on the application, "I love paper," and I wasn't saying it to schmooze. I meant it. I love different colors and textures of paper, watermarks, and the rough edges of hand-made paper. I like having my face really close to a piece of paper and watching a ballpoint pen go across it, the little skips and blobs, or how a juicy pen bleeds ink into it.
When I was a kid I was just excited to see a plain white piece of paper because it was inviting me to draw or write there. It was a big empty playground I could fill with my own stuff.
As I get older the blank piece of paper is still inviting but intimidating. What if I create something ugly here? What if I waste this beautiful white wonderland? What do I put here that is worthy of spending my time and marring this nice paper? Over-analysis sometimes keeps the paper blank.
That's just stupid.