It's been a while. So long I feel almost as if I've forgotten how to string together a coherent and eloquent sentence, much less a paragraph or piece worthy of an audience. The familiar melodies and beats of my favorite inspiration reverberate from my stereo as I lie mostly strewn across the sectional in the corner of the living room with the beady eyes of 20 fish looking over my right shoulder. Am I lost? Has my ability, my way with words, my tendency to create disintegrated? There is much to write, and yet I cannot begin to piece together what it may be. The only Storm that I can imagine is that which crashes through my thoughts and disrupts my means of writing interesting literary discourse.
Perhaps I'm thinking too much. No. That can't be it.
Perhaps I'm just worn out from the hours upon hours of overtime spent at my less exciting, albeit financially necessary, job.
Perhaps I'm not trying hard enough. Is my mind really in it?
If you have any idea, please, I seek advice. I'll be here, eating unhealthily, watching TV and trying to assemble the thousands of words that lie before me into a puzzle that in its completion depicts something worthy of your attention.
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