I’ve found myself twirling the pen at this time at night, trying to dig out words and phrases and also attempting to gather up the little bit of energy i have left to help me draw it out. However, it’s all been incredibly unsuccessful because I can’t even write out a sentence that makes any sense. I guess that’s okay. You can’t always get it right. You can’t always win. And sometimes we drive around and that pavement turns into a gravel road and we have to decide whether to turn around or to drive over rocks and dirt and hope with our fingers crossed and our throats in knots that there is another side. Sometimes it’s not so easy. And sometimes we’re not prepared for that because we had a map you know? We had a plan. And now that’s shot to hell and now you’re left trying to put all of that back on the shelf and now you’re re-reading words cause it’s all you have left and now you’re wondering if it will go back to normal before the summer nights are gone. This is supposed to be my “thing” you know? Writing. Yet I find it so hard lately. I find I can’t muster up a single paragraph. A single theme. Not a metaphor, not a description, nothing. All I can do is crumble up little bits of yellow notepad pages in the trash can that have a bunch of useless ramblings about things that shouldn’t be.

Booooooooooooo for me.