Fear. The empty page.

Everything jumbles. Words. Phrases. Sentences.

Thoughts.

Jumble.

I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what to write.

I always face this issue.

I start.

It never ends up what I want or even close to what it used to be.

I lost the gift.

I lost that drive.

Time off.

Interests fade.

The little Joyce-ian stream of consciousness diatribes that I was so great at back in the day are no more.

They don’t come.

Jumble.

I don’t know what it is.

I don’t know.

Day after day.

Everything is the same.

My thoughts. My lack of motivation and lack of inspiration.

Same.

Gone.

No more.

I don’t even know what life is anymore.

It’s another cycle of the day before.

Nothing new.

Nothing changes.

I need to settle in.

It’ll be for the long haul ‘cause there is no end in sight.

None.

I think as time drags on, second by second, in this horrible joke called Eternal Quarantine I’ll succumb to the mind numbing of it and will start to create again.

From the ashes, life rises.

I need to write again.

Creative writing.

Stories.

Scripts.

I miss it.

I need to dig through my notes and see where I left off.

I need to do so many things.

No motivation.

No inspiration.

None.

Sigh.

Life.

It’s a general unease of anxiety as our future is uncertain.

What will happen?

The election?

No ONE knows.

No one.

I’m a man. Struggling. Alone.

Aren’t we all.

Alone.