Mush

Sitting. Staring. Got nothing for the page.

What a week, I think. Full of tears, frustrations, and rage.

A surprise high, an immediate low. Efforts wasted and we question where to go.

The brain is mush and the pen is weighed. It’s that kind of week where you just feel hated.

A bit of sleep. Time to rest. You think that’s all you need.

A night or two, a day with nothing to do, but it’s gone before you can succeed.

A deep breath and a heavy sigh. Your muscles feel like thin little fries.

A big ol’ yawn. A cat on your lap.

Yeah. That’s it. It’s time for a nap.