It’s Monday. (says Ms. Obvious)
You’re not writing. (says dear readers)
What are you doing?? (asks the little guy who resides in the right quadrant of brain space)
<——–“The page is fucking blank!” she screamed at no one in particular.
I don’t know. Can’t write. So, yeah, guess the long weekend will entail a good bottle of wine (1 bottle/hour = happy writer T, OR = sloppy drunk who can no longer type T), reflection, fur-kid lovin’, and a serious dose of WHY FOR CAN’T YOU WRITE ANYMORE?
There are worse things to deal with on a holiday weekend, I get that! This is my time to bitch, so stop pointing out irritatingly obvious rhetoric.
If any of you bloggers have some fabulous alcohol-soaked tips on beating the dreaded block I would LOVE for you to share. ‘Cause I’m going craaaazy. This shit is not meant to be trapped in me noggin’.