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I can hear my heart beating in my head and my breath keeps time with the clacking of the keyboard. I have ear plugs in and a hood on and I can still hear most of whats being said a room away. A bit distracting to say the least and sure its hyperbole to say I want to kill everyone but when I am trying to get an idea for a story straight in my head, the last thing I need to worry about is chatter and the rumblings of a six pound dog.

the keyboard feels foreign. Like a stranger, like the hiring manager you’re trying to warm up to because they are the gate keeper to the job you want to land, you need to land. for whatever reason punctuation, a linear thought process and being able to find the P key have been elusive, as has the desire to eat dinner. I am hungry for progress not food and at times like these, it’s important for me to feed my brain, more so than to feed my face. there is no time for music or facebook or television or grabbing myself with both hands. there is not time to pet the dog, trying to sit on my left shoulder, like a four-legged parrot, there will be time for that later.

right now I stretch, mentally. I punch the keys in hopes of establishing a rhythm, creating muscle memory, finding my voice, ferreting out the one diamond in the mountains of coal and dog shit lodged within the confines of my grey matter. fuck you Pinkman. fuck you Heisenberg. the need is greater than the desire and I gotta get this shit out.

I hope you all are well.

Cheers,

JJ