Whiskey Man

I’ve just stared at this blog post draft for 37 minutes. I started writing one sentence about 10 minutes ago, but I deleted it and went back to the blank canvas again for a while before well.. typing this sentence because the literal silence was getting unbearable. I’ve got a terrible urge to get something off my chest, yet don’t know what it is, or if I even want to open that hatchet I’m sure I’ve subconsciously buried. I’ve seem to have run out of vocab. I think authors call it writers block. I feel like writing something meaningful and powerful that I can write, save and click publish on. Click publish, and hope that I am then cured of this unbearable empty ache in my stomach that won’t go away. But I have nothing to say, nothing in particular to focus my mind on. I’m not particularly angry or sad, nor am I not those things. Confused mostly, wondering what I want to do with my present and future, whilst pondering my past. Wondering which one of those shape me the most, and which one I want to shape me the most. Simultaneously cringing that I’m even considering publishing this pretensions waffle, that right now feels like a tumble of irrelevant words and thoughts that I don’t understand why even need to be written down. I guess this is what grown ups refer to as being a bit “Lost”. Hm.. guess I’m going to have to do some more pondering.

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