Today words are not my friends. They've been really mean to me lately. They're tripping over each other as they fall from my mouth. They clog like an ink blot as they're scratched from my pen. They hate me. And I hate it.
When technology and I don't get along, when my suitemates pick on me, when the world seems to be against me, I still have my word-friends to back me up. Except now.
Who am I if I cannot cooperate with the English language?
I am still a daughter of God, a friend, a roommate. I'm still a role model, a team leader, and a big sister. But I am not me. I am a writer. This is what I do. What do you do when you can't do what you do?
You blog about it. But then you remember what Sherman Alexie said, "Every word on your blog is a word not in your book." I guess I'm nostalgic for my book. I reread and tweek scenes, but it isn't the same. Sure, I still have some of the excitement about someday finishing it but that someday apparently isn't today.
I. Am. Frustrated.