"Letters make words, and sentences make paragraphs"

I surround myself at all time with something to write on. I have note pads and notebooks and pens and pencils all around. I spend some time once a month making sure that every pen I have works and every pencil is sharp.

I suppose this is just hope that eventually the Muses will show up and say “Write this down, it’s brilliant!”.

But that day hasn’t happened. The story, whatever that story is, hasn’t come out of my brain or my fingers or where ever in hell stories are kept before they are put on the page. I find not writing exhausting, but I find what I have written exhausting when I read it later. Sometimes I am just so embarrassed by what is there on the page.

Today I scratched some words out in a notebook I keep in my bedside table. I doubt they will ever see the light of day. They might, but it isn’t likely. Even these words began with a thought that just popped into my head and as soon as the first three sentences were down I just started making shit up. It’s only the first three sentences that meant anything to me, the rest of this is just making shit up to fill in the space so I feel like I wrote more than three sentences today.

I need to write everyday, or I think I should write everyday, but I really can't find the reason to get up in the morning. I can't always show up to eat food every day, even when I am physically starving. I can't always show up to get dressed every day. If I have a reason to leave the house, I can totally get it together. But if I don't I don't show up for anything... not even the blank page.