I am working on my yogurt story, but I grew frustrated rewriting the first three paragraphs countless times. I know I should move on but I haven’t found the hook yet. I’ve managed, over the course of a lazy Doolies Sunday, to write another three paragraphs and not move the story one iota past where it was on Friday. I’ll keep working on it in secret, so I can spring it on you and you can bask in its unmitigated beauty. Wouldn’t that be great? For now, I’ll share random tidbits that are not related to yogurts. As you will tell, it was a difficult day.

Humming along the darkened paths, the eyeballs riveted to the frames looking through cloudy streets to what wasn’t there. My words find constipation in the form of tight black balls behind eyeballs that haven’t found anything to look at in weeks. Where did the words go? When did the imagery of twilight decide to hide during the weekend? I think only of days past and look at the growth of trees during springtime as if shot by a mutant ray. I breathe deeply and search for serenity and find only hard walls and layered dirt.

What is wrong with my mind that my focus is gone from the light? I have nothing to say and no way of saying it. That should be my mantra for days like this, perfect days, where the summer awaits.

Nothing is going on in there. I’m too anxious. Where is my inspiration? My dedication? My, let’s get this going because I have somewhere I want to get going to? This is enraging me. I’m enraged.