A little procrastination piece for you.

Hi my people,

I'm having a hard time getting rolling, like my muse stole the car and crashed it in a river. Both still exist, they're just useless.

Partially, this is because of all I've got going on. But this is no excuse. It's obvious that the only way to write is to write, regardless of lame excuses. So I apologize for all that. I just had to type some words to try and get things moving. If it works, you'll know. If it didn't, well, it'll be a little less obvious.

Sometimes, it just feels like the old poetry to the writing is gone. I read things that I wrote years ago and think, "holy moley, did I write that? I used to be talented. Where did it go? What changed?"

Obviously, I've grown as a person. I have a lot more experience now than I did. So why can't I write anything I'm proud of? Perhaps I'm more critical of myself, which is not a bad thing. Perhaps I'm not critical enough, or not putting in enough effort. The unfortunate side effect to all this is that I no longer feel good when I'm writing. Instead, I'm forcing it.

I used to have ideas. And I could make them go somewhere. Now they sit, blinking at me, wondering what the hell I'm doing. And I look at them and think, boy, you sure are interesting. Then it gets up and leaves. And I go back to bed.

Ok, enough of this bellyaching! Sometimes there's just something floating in your head that you need to put elsewhere in order to carry on with things. Probably, that place should have been a journal, or a blank paper that I proceed to fold into a crane and flush down the toilet. But tough cookies, blogtown! You're my vent-victim today!

So long,

-V-