Ya know how sometimes you just sit, your mouth dry wondering where the next word’ll come from, the next phrase, the next whatever.
And ya sit, blowing spit bubbles while your mind races not connecting, gears stripped and smoking.
And you think.
Why?
Why do I put myself through this? For what?
Why bother?
Why not ease off the clutch and let it go. it ain’t goin’ anywhere anyway.
But you persist, like herpes.
‘Cause it’s in you like somethin’ that’ll never get out and you’re stuck.
Writin’s harder than I ever thought. I envisioned a cool existence sitting tap-tapping away in air conditioned comfort, far from the travails and hardship of construction.
Instead it’s different but just as tough, in a different way. And it saps you, which is a huge surprise.
Who knew?
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