smothered hope

I just wanted to comment that for the last few months, I have been going through a creative block which is making me want to SCREAM with the sheer frustration of it all. I have been hiding said frustration fairly well, allowing it to manifest itself in my hatred for my job, but I have finally reached a point where I have to acknowledge that I will go postal very soon if I do not regain my capacity for using my outlets to their full potential.

Translation: Kitty's going coo-coo for coacoa puffs. Send drugs and hookers.

But seriously, if I can't even sit alone with a notebook and get anything satisfying out of it, what the fuck is going on? I'm honestly worried. I'm really freaked out, tot he point where some sort of violent action, like screaming or beating up on a wall or something, would make me feel a tad better. OR at least I think it will - with my luck, I'll go into that soundproof room or china shop and suddenly lose my voice and all control over my muscles. I'll become a mute catatonic, and cease to do anything besides breathe.

I'm sure somewhere, someone's voodoo doll is so full of pins, you can't even tell it's supposed to be me.

It certainly isn't for a lack of trying. Of course, the amount of time I spend trying to encourage ideas to come out of my mind and onto paper probably looks more like procrastination than anything else.

Gah. What does anyone else care of this? I'm gonna go get a cup of tea.

back | forth

listening:
reading:
ingesting:
(see entries before 20.11.05)

previously on Smothered Hope:

unreal - 20.05.08
in which our narrator kinda just babbles on a bit - 15.05.08
drank several margaritas last night. they were great. - 04.05.08
spacey - 29.04.08
i will most definitely regret posting this in public - 28.04.08