Mostly, I am fed up of the self piteous crap I write. But, I will not lie to the few loyal readers I have.
I am suffering from Writer’s Block.
(never fails to surprise me how I can be dramatic about EVERYTHING)
I am sure my eloquence will shine through when you realise that I only have two words to say about this situation – IT SUCKS. Honestly, my kitchen drain is having an easier time spewing out crap from all corners better than I am. Why am I not able to write, Lord? It’s my job! Sometimes, I just think this is what babies feel like till they learn how to speak. They have all the intent to be coherent beings. But, when they open their mouths, they can only gurgle. Thankfully, I am not restricted to gurgling, just stuck with a rock down my throat and a weight on my head. While I would like to pretend that weight is because I am this struggling youngster in the city with the peanuts I earn just not filling my pockets enough to feed my blind sister, it’s really just because I spend too much time in traffic or just plain pitying myself.
Of course, I don’t have enough time to read because I choose sleep over Mrs Dalloway. Of course, I cannot finish the movie because I haven’t slept enough. Of course, this is a dialogue template I must repeat thrice because my Bollywood background demands I do so.
But, this is getting tiring. I want to stand up to the bully that is my laziness. I cannot not write anymore just because my mind refuses to function. I am still capable of making perfect sense. Or at least, I have surprised myself by proving that to myself in the last two paragraphs.
Much sighing and recalling one and a half heartbreaks remind me why I love doing this. I can be anyone I want to be when I write. I am not giving up. Yet.