i’m feeling really burned today. i sat down to write, and my mind was a blank. the creative juice was squeezed, no rage, no flame of passion, no inspiration. writer’s block is what i’d call it if i called myself a writer. but it’s deeper than that. it’s only the itch which is the symptom, not the disease. really, i’m just burned out on everything. burned on work. burned on this city. burned on writing. burned on reading. i wake up tired and come home feeling tired-er. i’m even burned on daydreaming, because it just makes the days seem longer, though i’m not quite sure how that’s even possible. i can’t even summon the energy to feign interest in the things i’m supposed to be interested in.

i’m too through. i’m phoning it in. going through the motions. all style, no substance. the lights are off and no one is home. elvis has left the building.

i just want o-u-t. out of this job/city/lease/lifestyle. i want to go where my umbrella doesn’t break on the rainy days, where urban life is not assaulting me from all sides, where i don’t have to pay exorbitant amounts of money to fight my way onto the tube, to get to a job i don’t want to go to, to earn enough money to get to work tomorrow. lather, rinse, repeat.

so it’s my long winded way of saying sorry today’s blog is not more interesting. please forgive my temporary lack of sanity. tune in again tomorrow.

Like this post

Unlike