It’s getting beyond frustrating at this point.
First, they just weren’t there. Or if they were, they were whispering so low I couldn’t hear them. I suspect they were off gallivanting around though, having a good old time without me.
Then, they finally show back up after much begging and pleading on my part, but they overload me with all that I’ve missed in their absence. Just rude, guys.
And now, they laugh. Watching and waiting for me to be able to bring their stories to life. But there’s something wrong with connection between my brain and my fingers. I don’t understand it, but I can’t make it happen.
I’m tired of staring at a blank document.
I’m tired of reading old work hoping it needs editing.
I’m tired of not writing.