Damn the spider solitaire game! It was meant as a time-passer, but now it has become my newest enemy, taking me from the real reason I sit at my computer. But am I ranting because I haven't had the stones to return to my manuscript since releasing a few pages to unknown eyes? Fear? Me? Better I were afraid of spiders - a regular arachnophobe. Eight legs creeping up the wall; eight decks staring me in the monitor...
I need some magic powder, a bit of pixie dust or whatever crap will make my muse get over it's fuckin' self and start back to writing. The way I used to long ago when I never cared if anyone saw my pages because I never intended for anyone to SEE my pages. And then it happened, I allowed others to glimpse, and that opened the flood gates of opinion. Did said flood realize my thin skin? One can see though it to the blue veins - almost see each fiber of nerve and lack thereof.
Oh for just one day of feeling the lust for my former writer self. If only I had courage in a bottle, I'd do shooters prior to the game of what words work best in this paragraph. Must one really think before acting with a pen? Does the pen have a mind of its own? Well, it should if it doesn't because if it relies on what's stored in my skull it's in for great disappointment.
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