I want to write, but I just can’t. I will try to wring my brain for words but nothing is coming out. No stories to tell. I’ve tried recalling stories from the past but ….nothing seems interesting for now. I look around and meet people but I can’t write anything about them. No poetic excitement. No poetic heartbreak. I’ve been busy. Busy is not good to me, but I hope this business will convert to productivity.
And diary, my life might change in the coming months. I’m excited, optimistic, looking forward to that new life, but as I said, it’s not poetic. And that life might consume my …creative writing life. But I hope not. I hope that the new experiences will turn on a switch somewhere in my brain or something. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.
I hope I will continue to meet new people who will teach me something new. Recently I have, though, but I don’t feel anything enough to write about them. Maybe they’re boring to me. Maybe I need to meet someone who’s so different it sparks something in me. Or maybe I need to lower my standards and see the life in everyone. Or maybe it’s me who’s dead.