Clogged Writing

I'm feeling clogged, like constipated. Not literally of course. I'm feeling writing constipated. Partially, I slept high-ho crapfully. Partially, that's it mostly. Partially, I've begun retagging all of my blog posts. I don't know why it feels so important to me. I'm not even very confident about the tags, but it will be better than having hundreds of little words attached haphazardly.

As it turns out, most of my posts are tagged with "journal." It's about as good as no tag at all.

What else? What else? Definitely not that. Not now. Maybe some day. Some day in the distant future when I'm already infamous.

I have too many things I want to refurbish, but I scatter my focus like M&Ms against a wall. (I don't think that's a common phrase, but it is the image that came to mind.) And who wants to waste all those M&Ms?! Plus, your hands would get sticky if you picked them all up. No fun at all.

Yeah. Yeah, it makes sense. I gotta prioritize getting my brain straight before I fret too much about publishing, writing, refurbishing, etc. I don't want to talk about it right now though.

I'm not talking about that either.

Or that.

Or even that — despite how innocuous the card game is.

Unfortunately, I think I've accumulated enough crap all up in my brain that I just have to garble and babble it out and start fresh. I could turn the muddled emotions into a story, a full-on random story that attaches to nothing I've already written. Funny enough, most of my good story ideas have sprouted from random sketches.

I don't want to refurbish my blog. It's so much energy.

I'm writin' a flippin' story.

Ciao.