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Aug. 29th, 2003
The ex-lax of the literary sphere
Aug. 29th, 2003 11:16 pm*gouges brain out with a spoon*
I keep trying, y'know... trying and trying and trying but my brain is dead. Gone, forgotten, all but a memory. I have ideas that I can't seem to form into sentences, stories that are refusing to be told. I cannot grasp the intricate, vital somethingthat sparks a tale to life on the page, can't find the right string of words to express the notion I seek to convey.
I write and it comes out tepid, like verbal constipation. I think my adjectives are stuck. And the tales I was telling, the things that fired me most are now sitting there, feeling unappealing because I know that by opening them I will, at least for now, acheive nothing at all.
I think I'm too tired. Too frazzled to think after too many nights of far too little slumber in a self-perpetuating cycle of exhausting mental insomnia. A state whereby my body has no damn trouble at all with sleeping, but it'd really quite appreciate my brain coming along for the experience, maybe getting a slightly earlier start, staying a little longer...
But then pretty much everything for the last year has been system shock. The transition from 19 years of school terms with long, long vacations and a year of unemployment (which I now seem to recall with probably a little too much fondness) to a year of actually working where so far I've had all of 2 weeks genuine vacation, and one week of food poisoning.
Yeah... vacation... sounds gooood doesn't it?
Christ I could do with one right now and I still have almost 2 months to go... *wails*
-wondering on the potential of pulling a sickie... just for a couple of days...-
Oh and if the money monkey wasn't so desperate to be fed you know I would...
I keep trying, y'know... trying and trying and trying but my brain is dead. Gone, forgotten, all but a memory. I have ideas that I can't seem to form into sentences, stories that are refusing to be told. I cannot grasp the intricate, vital somethingthat sparks a tale to life on the page, can't find the right string of words to express the notion I seek to convey.
I write and it comes out tepid, like verbal constipation. I think my adjectives are stuck. And the tales I was telling, the things that fired me most are now sitting there, feeling unappealing because I know that by opening them I will, at least for now, acheive nothing at all.
I think I'm too tired. Too frazzled to think after too many nights of far too little slumber in a self-perpetuating cycle of exhausting mental insomnia. A state whereby my body has no damn trouble at all with sleeping, but it'd really quite appreciate my brain coming along for the experience, maybe getting a slightly earlier start, staying a little longer...
But then pretty much everything for the last year has been system shock. The transition from 19 years of school terms with long, long vacations and a year of unemployment (which I now seem to recall with probably a little too much fondness) to a year of actually working where so far I've had all of 2 weeks genuine vacation, and one week of food poisoning.
Yeah... vacation... sounds gooood doesn't it?
Christ I could do with one right now and I still have almost 2 months to go... *wails*
-wondering on the potential of pulling a sickie... just for a couple of days...-
Oh and if the money monkey wasn't so desperate to be fed you know I would...
