And it’s as if every story and every play is locked in my head in a clear plastic prison, banging at the walls and desperately wanting to get out, and here I am fumbling with keys. Titling the LJ, updating my interests, actually attempting to write a short story about grown women visiting their uncle in the hospital, a man who once starred on a late-seventies adventure detective drama, and not even summarizing the plot in print is enough to kickstart it. My mind at a perpetual stutter, struggling to get the words out and occasionally choosing different, unintended ones just to say something.
Lord, I hate this.
Current music: Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Once More, With Feeling, “I’ll Never Tell”