And for some reason, I want to write and write and write. I want to wallow in nostalgia and stroll down memory lane and share all of these incredible life-memories I have, but nothing is coming out. I keep re-reading my sister's post about life with our father (linked at the end of my latest hotlist, a couple of posts back tonight) and THAT is the kind of thing I want to write this morning, something that is deep and thoughtful and interesting and presents something far out in a really understandable way, and the FUCKING WORDS AREN'T COMING TO ME.
This pisses me off.
I need more cowbell.