Another day, another sleepless night. The late night walks are becoming even more frequent lately. I don’t know whether it’s helping or not, but walking through the still dark of a cool night is better than walking through that nightmarish dark in my head every time my mind decides to flashback on my embarrassing failures. Though I do have to remember one thing though…
I need mosquito repellent because I’m like some damn blood buffet or something.
How is it I can write about the rest of my life but I can’t think of anything to put down for fashion and sports? Everytime I try and write something down, I just lose my train of thought and end up scrapping the entire thing in the process because the words don’t flow out right.
Now I know I wasn’t meant to be in the writing business.
It just feels for some reason something is missing where all that inspiration that I relied on to write articles that made sense just went away. Maybe writing 30 articles in 72 hours the week before screwed something up in my head or maybe all the pessimism and insecurities of my life just happened to pick this week to catch up with me and provide a distraction I certainly don’t want.
Whatever it is, even the hallucinatory Aztec Monkey God I saw two days ago isn’t much help.
Come on…there has got to be something better than pointing to Sarah and speaking to me in a language that I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re going on about. At least posses me to write or something. Haven’t you heard of ghost writing before? Is that so hard? I know other people are so damn scared of it, but that’s other people. For this situation I’m desperate to allow demonic or ghostly possession if thought it’ll help me finish 30 teenage savvy articles on fashion and sports.
It’ll just be hell trying to clean up the mess afterwards.
Do you know how hard it is to clean up blood and vomit on your bed? Don’t ask me how I know that. That’s not mentioning the psychiatric fees for the people who had a fit seeing you turn your head 360 degrees and started to fly around the room with floating objects around you. Then you got to have an exorcism and you got to pay the priest too. Come to think of it, that’s a costly way to write 30 articles.
I don’t have that much money to begin with, that’s why I took this job.
I seriously have to find my muse soon.
I hate missing deadlines.
I hate failing what I should be good at.