This post intended for Week 12
I’m not in writing mode tonight.
My gears are creaking, my hair follicles screaming, I am not in writing mode tonight.
My tomato soup has a bubble in it and I want to go to bed and I am not in writing mode tonight.
I don’t want coffee or tea or some kind of energy drink with a flavor incomparable to anything else other than maybe Mountain Dew (maybe). I want to run away from this terribly lit room into a completely unlit room where my roommate lays practically dead with four different blankets on top of her despite the heat, because I am not in writing mode tonight.
I wish I had the adrenaline and the lungs to scream like a macaw, the claws to tear off my own face, the legs to run across the ocean, and a pair of pants that could withstand that level of friction because I am not in writing mode tonight.
I bargain with myself, begging for the exchange of time for sleep. The hope is that my dreams will help clear my mind so I can write, but I keep telling myself, “no.” I continue to pressure myself, knowing that eventually I will give in though I’ve no time to spare, simply because I am not in writing mode tonight.
I am not in any mode tonight. I need to do dishes and water plants and clear off my desk and write a paper and brush my teeth, but I am not in any mode tonight.
