Brain Dead

Dear Butch,

Some nights I struggle to write.  Tonight is one of those nights.

I have been sitting at my laptop for the past three hours.  Starting and restarting posts, never getting more then a few sentences in before scraping the whole thing.  I have banned myself from social media and my phone.  I have looked for motivation, walked for motivation, and drank for motivation…coming up short each time.  I am tired in every way possible.

I have a playlist I listen to when I write, a playlist of my favorite songs which currently is eighteen songs long.  Normally, I get through a post without the playlist repeating, tonight is not the case.  The same eighteen repeating, reminding me that I have failed my readers tonight one beat at a time.

I really wanted to write a heart-warming post about Valentine’s Day.  A list type post, helping those who struggle with tis holiday survive.  But instead I kept churning out cheesy stereotypical lines that made me question my validity as a writer.  Then I tried to switch it up and write about sex, but that flopped when I couldn’t narrow down what about sex I wanted to write about.  I then jumped around topics, searching the house for inspiration.  Cook books, Norfolk pine trees, laundry detergent, canned air, the Olympics, dogs, wool socks, scented candles, and mustard.  Yeah, mustard.  Our fridge currently contains eight varieties of fancy mustard.  Thrilling.

I am sorry.  I am surrendering to writers block.  Good night.

 

Love,

Femme

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