Some days, I'll sit before the keyboard and nothing will come. Nothing will happen.
I'll look at what I have before me, so far and I'll think to myself - "what on earth is this bullshit I have written?"
I'm sitting here now, trapped in this dilemma.
I hate it.
I hate feeling like I can't move forward. I've done everything to avoid it recently. Filled my life with the demands of family, health - or lack thereof.
Today the house is empty and I have all the space I need to create. But I can't do it.
I've ironed the clothes. I've washed the dishes. I've made all the beds. I go back to the keyboard and sit there and look at it and just think -
I am a fraud.
I am empty.