If I had a quarter for every time I sat down to write and the first sentence was something along the lines of “I need to write but the words aren’t coming” or “every time I sit down to write the words vanish” I wouldn’t be as broke as I am now.
It seems to be a good way of getting through the block though – acknowledging that it’s hard, that there’s resistance, that there’s something in the way of me and my words. There’s something behind them that requires energy, there’s something more to work on and process.
Writing is a part of that process, but sometimes it has to start with a long hard look at reality: it’s sometimes really fucking hard to write because the act of writing and digging through my brain is as exhausting as it is helpful.
So much so in fact, that this is currently all I can manage.
I am an ocean of feelings and exhaustion and thoughts that don’t have sentences to them.
Soon though. I will have many long rambly posts about what the fuck this semester has been.
In the meantime, enjoy a doodle.






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