Write A Story…

About what? I have nothing to boast.

I am a mentally exhausted spinning top that will not give in to gravity (and physics). Why can’t I just let myself fall? I am a pile of unfinished novels. Not really sure which genre I’m in the mood for at any particular time… or day, if I’m being honest, but I make do.

This year I have learned that I need laughter to survive the complexities I have created for myself. I was recently told that I love drama. I attract it, I am a magnet for it. The accusation wasn’t totally false…

My fingers have been itching to write, but I can never bring myself to do it. I always tell myself that if I can’t pick up a pen and my journal like every other writing pioneer, then I shouldn’t write anything.

What a foolish fucking ultimatum.

Meanwhile, as I have a mental argument with myself over my desire to write and my physical fatigue, I can feel my mind succumbing to the 21st century writing tools. Moleskines and micron pens will never fail me, but the convenience of a Macbook is inarguable.

Summers are always for reinvention. Which is perfect, actually, because it means I can reinvent myself indoors. Far far away from direct sunlight.