I can’t get comfortable when I want to write. It’s as if I’m blocked.
Blocked isn’t something I believe in. My dumb brain is always moving, dreaming, thinking, creating nonsense but nothing is coming out on paper.
I keep telling myself to review the ten thousand hours of television I watch a day but instead I watch something else or post an old laserdisc on Instagram.
I know this babble right now is worthless and I will probably delete it as quickly as I post it but I need to get the ball rolling. I turn 40 in less than a week and that’s insanity. I might as well take notes on my upcoming midlife crisis and share my continuing uncertainties with someone.