hanging out with linda, i heard she's in fuckinggggggg

i cannot write. i want to write. why can't i write anything that sounds or looks good. i try and consult myself, as i am my best consular, and even i, the person who once wrote hundreds of thousands of words in romance and 'light horror' in a single year, do not have the answers for myself. you'd think being 'free' from my self-medication would do the tumblr-thing (the more tortured the artist, the more creative/beautiful the work), but it's not real and it's not happening for me, the person who gets to judge what's real and isn't. every night, i dream of getting to write again... every now and then, my handfuls of writer friends remind me of the dreadfully long times they've been unable to write and how horrible it was.. and every time i set aside a minute from my meeting with my favourite wall (for staring!), i find myself so... uninspired... tonight was somewhat romantic, yesterday was somewhat romantic. tonight i planned an 'over-the-phone romantic date' with wine and unlimited hours with this girl i am so 'secretly' courting, and am so 'secretly aware' she enjoys it... a mental stress of who admits to liking who first! isn't this what the writing gods wanted for themselves and their readers?! i thought because of this, i could find something sweet in it. think of some new words or new formatting to memorialise the fluttering of 'our' hearts...! and i all i got was this stupid blog post.