I can’t write anything. It’s like trying to get water from the moon. I just stare and stare and stare at the empty page. I feel nothing at all.
It’s like how I sign up to make all these fanlistings, thinking that surely, surely by the time the form is processed, I’ll feel some kind of spark of inspiration to make something again, and it never happens. I just end up half-assing a layout in three hours on the day it’s due and throwing it online to keep the Internets HOA off my ass.
There’s nothing in me, nothing stirs. I’m just empty. I’m just pain and uselessness wrapped in a human shape.
It’s probably not surprising, given the last three years of my life being what they are, but it still sucks. One more shard of myself lost; there’s going to be nothing left eventually, I think. If that is indeed the case, I wish it would hurry up and take all of me.
Soy un perdedor. What can you do. What can I do. It is whatever it is. Everything is, everything was, everything is all, everything will be. Supposedly.