Writing is really hard for me right now. Which is bad. Bad for you because you don’t get updates in any sort of timely fashion. Very bad for me because I’m staring at a WRITING TEST which I must complete by Monday in order to test out of my school program’s writing course.
But the words and sentences and pictures they make will not come. They’re all stuck in a cloud of second-guesses and self-doubt and lack of motivation. The last one isn’t completely my fault – my assigned topic is methamphetamines, which, when you think about it, is really ironic. But it’s not interesting to me, and I’m staring to fear it. At least I can spell it now. That took a while.
Something has happened to me this summer. I’m all slow and fudgy. I feel like my mind, my words, are wading through a sea of muck, possibly made up of dog poop.
Don’t get me wrong: I like the dogs. A lot. But my brain is just…gone. No wait, it’s here. I think.
Anyone have some meth?