Another day. Another day of boredom. I was looking for something to do. I knew I should be writing, but some days, maybe a lot of days, that’s something I would rather avoid. Writing – I have a love-hate relationship with it. It’s a five letter word for two four letter words: hard work. Anyway, if I poke around long enough, I can find something else to do. There’s always housework. But I really hate that. Not that I don’t like being clean, but getting there can be tedious if not outright exhausting.
I haven’t written for a week. Is it because the ideas, the creativity, just aren’t there? It would be nice if I could
squeeze ideas out of my head like tooth paste. I just can’t think of anything and when I do it’s at the most inopportune time. Like in the middle of the night, when I have insomnia.