Brother Can You Spare A Damn?
I used to write, at least that is what I tell people now. I had lofty ambitions once. About being a writer. Not a published writer per se, but just one who tells stories with the written word. Someone who has finished stories. Stacks of poems, even a novel in the works. A person that would always carry a pen and paper because inspiration could strike at any moment.
Am I out of ideas? Hardly. I could have that stack, I could have that novel in progress. I walk around with a circus of ideas.
You could call it writers block. It is the most severe I have ever had. I am trying really hard not to blame it on the Wellburtrin. It is hard to describe it’s crippling nature. What’s worse is I cannot find an ounce of care or worry to try and fiz it. I know it’s there, I know it is a huge problem but I cannot find myself giving a damn to try and change it.
Can anyone spare a damn?
