I’m Writing About Not Writing

Sometimes I have some semblance of an idea in my head, and I truly want to be able to flesh it out in a short piece of writing. Except more often than not that sweet milk of inspiration turns into cottage cheese in less than a minute. I get so frustrated. I feel that somehow I’ll be able to make the cottage cheese into milk again by poking at it, but it’s too late. The idea is spoilt.

And oh look, now the crumbly, liquid, gooey puddle is starting to mold. This is just gross now.

I give up and scrap the idea, and feel sorry for my lack of focus for a little while.

But I guess there’s no use crying over spilt milk.