The clocks go back. I love this, your ment to be getting an extra hour sleep, I didn't. I'm awake. No alarm has summoned me, my eyes have genuinely woken by their own free will. I want to write a blog, it's just impossible with a computer and my kind of schedule. I mean I hardly do much, but maybe I'm lazy and don't think I'm capable to write a blog on a regular basis. I miss writing. The escape you have when your pen first touches the paper, the yearning the pen feels when their apart, like a forbidden romance.
The paper embraces the pens ink, making the pen flow smoothly across the lines, word for word the story grows.
Oops, a mistake. "I'm sorry page, this might hurt." mutters the pen.
Scratch, a double line over the unwanted word. The page screeched as it got it's messy tattoo.
I fail to finish my own work, is this because of my lack of inspiration? Or my dead end ideas? I'm struggling. Why am I awake? It's 7am on the 'day of rest'. I've been up since 5. Some day of rest this is turning out to be. I've decided to start a blog because I want to write more and express myself in the form of blogging. I questioned writing a diary, but I have earlier memories of it going to plan and not keeping the commitment. Maybe that's what will happen on here, I hope not.
