Writer's Block

I've been sitting at work for over an hour now staring at a blank word document. I've decided that when it gets to the point that I can't write text panels for exhibits, I really need to do something about it. So I took a minute and came here so I could just write without worrying too much about what I said. So, forgive me, but for the next few minutes you're going to be privy to the inside workings of my mind. If it doesn't make sense, then you'll understand now why you don't understand me.

The coffee this morning was terrible. Bitter. It was even almost weak. That's an accomplishment for dark roast. I wonder if the woman ever cleaned up the spill from where my lid wouldn't fit. Stupid lids. My hand still hurts from the burn.

Reading the news only makes this condition worse. I thought perhaps it would inspire me to be a better person but all it does is cloud my brain. I really am tired of the god-forsaken iphone. I'm tired of hearing about Obama's Veep search committee and how McCain tramples womens' rights. No doubt he does, but when I read it ten times in an hour I want to rip someone's eyes out. I got the message the first time.

Pain. Some people consider it the bane of human existence. I consider it a catalyst for growth. Living in constant pain has helped me accept a few things about myself. It helped me find the strength I thought I lost. Now if I can just find a way to harness that pain into productive thought so I won't be sitting here staring at a blank word document. I don't get paid to be in pain.

Is there such a thing as loving too much? I don't know. I've been debating this one a while. It seems to me that loving too much is only a problem for the person who does it. That person is doomed to live a miserable existence marred by recurring pain and dejection. Loving someone that loves you back is hard enough. But loving someone who never intended to get so close to you in the first place is torture. They never intended to be there for you when you were falling down drunk. They didn't mean to catch you. It just happened that you fell on top of them. And you, you were always there for them, even when they didn't want you. 3 a.m. runnings of the washing machine and all they can say for themselves is they are sorry.