Purpose
Thinking too hard cannot be good for the soul. The hands grow cold waiting for words to flow, they are too slow to come and then the cold spreads up the arms, motivation has fled. Now the words are dead and numbness sets in. What can I do, to bring back the light of the mind, to find that light of imagination? Soon frustration will set in, and the snap of the netbook lid closing finalises the ending, imagination has taken flight.
Bright ideas do not seem to expand beyond an single idea, and I fear that this is yet another wasted night. To write a few lines seems to be fine; if it says what needs to be said, and hopefully they are not a dead-end in exploring how far I can go, but it is too slow. Perhaps what I need is to learn patience. Reluctance to listen to my own advice is one of my faults, at a painfully obvious price...
Bright ideas do not seem to expand beyond an single idea, and I fear that this is yet another wasted night. To write a few lines seems to be fine; if it says what needs to be said, and hopefully they are not a dead-end in exploring how far I can go, but it is too slow. Perhaps what I need is to learn patience. Reluctance to listen to my own advice is one of my faults, at a painfully obvious price...