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24 August 2005 @ 03:42 pm
Mental Constipation  
It's a curious thing. I used to be able to park my gluteus maximus in front of the computer screen and happily tap away at the keyboard for hours, words flowing out like water. But at some point that stream began to narrow and became a trickle, than a few drops slowly splashing down. Now, essays flow in constant chatter through the spongy gray mass but unless I pull out paper and pick up a pen the words won't come out; they remain cluttering up the rooms upstairs.

I want to blame someone besides myself and the lack of writing I engaged in since high school ended. But try as I might to find another reason, it's crystal clear that lack of practice has made my mind's fingers too arthritic to turn the water spigot on again. Heck, the dozen bowel-movement euphemisms I have to describe my blocked creativity simply refuse to form a kicky hilarious one-liner. All I've got is crap.

See? That totally wasn't worth it. Letting that out only paints my face all the more foolish.
 
 
Current Mood: frustratedfrustrated
Current Music: "I Alone" - Live