My Muse is Getting Angry with Me

I sorta lost my momentum today. My muse is singing, he’s tapping on the inside of my skull, telling me I need to be getting his story told…but I sorta just don’t even care anymore.

Creativity feels so stupid sometimes. Like what is the fucking point of any of this shit? Why do I write these words, here on this blog?

WHO

THE

FUCK

CARES

There’s an imaginary friend who lives in my head, and he’s telling me I need to write a story. Once upon a time, some shit happened, the end.

Anyway, staring at the screen, and I have to pee.

2 thoughts on “My Muse is Getting Angry with Me

    1. I wrote. He wouldn’t stop haranguing me. The day was not a total loss. I did a lot of research on 19th century bathtubs…in between looking at pretty men online. My brain needed the break.

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