So Mired

I'm am so stuck in my head right now, as if my thoughts were branches just completely drenched in the muck that swims in my skull. And you can't pull them out. You wouldn't even want to because they're old and decaying branches and even if you did try to get one out, only part of it would tear off and it would be a soggy piece of bark that looked and smelled like shit.

I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what to do with my thoughts, my stuckness, my rippingly tense frustrations at me, myself and i and everything else that I want to blame on my un-motivation. My can't think. My too much thoughts. My nothingness and my everythingness that doesn't have an in between. Not yet at least.

I hope.

So I write this. This mired musing which is basically a self-pitying rant at a nothing that appears productive but isn't because I'm just thinking about how sucky this is and the little digits on my computer time clock are slowly increasing at the minute space.

Time going away. Or time coming, same thing. But right now, in the present, I'm not sure what this is all about.

Ah. purge. At least that's something.