I feel sick.
Don't make me talk to you. I don't want to write. It's a perfectly good excuse too. A hovering annoyance. A dance party going on in your own head while you're sleep deprived and you have to get up early again. You want them to stop, or better, just die. Cease.
Oh, I see what you did there. You got me talking when I just told you I felt too sick to scribble some words.
I obsess over my art.
but in a very bad and unproductive way. I wait for the planets to align and think that a beam of cosmic energy will shine on what I'm working on and deem it ready to publish. Maybe a voice only I can hear would speak or something. Otherwise there's about nine reasons a day that my brain closes the door on my creativity. A closet full of ideas that has to be forced closed shut. The latch finally clicks and it's gone.
"Maybe tomorrow.." I say
What a terrible thing to say to myself.
Please don't carry a conversation
with me that can only be composed of monosyllabic answers. I will most likely hate you shortly after. Unless of course we're family or something, then I'll put up with it for a while and then just get snappy.
Maybe have a fun fact ready that could spin off int some profound and insightful conversation. Just tell me about your day and the various thoughts / frustrations you had. That, at least, would make it more human. That would be great. That would be genuine.
Then I would like you and not have to shoot you in the leg.
(I do not own a firearm.)