long nights at the bar.

I’m not sure what it is about writing that makes me feel so comfortable. I seem to think I never write anything that is worth someone else’s eyes reading; yet like one magnet being held above another, I feel an attraction to the keyboard. And my thoughts want to pour out so fast that I don’t know what to write first and my fingers can’t keep up with the waterfall of words that are canonballing onto the page and then suddenly it’s all gone. What was in my head, what I was feeling, that incredible urge to write down every thought I’ve ever had is all gone. And I don’t know where it went and I’m not sure if I can get it back but I know it was there and it wanted to come out so I sit and I try and I think and I can almost remember. I can almost remember what pulled me to the computer in the first place, what made me want to, no, what made me need to get out the words that are piling up in my head. In my thoughts, taking up so much space that I can barely process any new information. So, I’m stuck in a kind of zombie-like state. I can hold a conversation with you, but I won’t remember your name. I can drive a car and ride a bike but learning to play the guitar is not in my near future. My mind is stuck. Until I can figure out how to place the words in the right order and make sense of it all. And make room for new things and thoughts and people. But right now, I am stuck.

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