Shut. Up. Already.

No, not you; my brain needed some public shaming to process my overall frustration. My muscles ache down to my very fingertips and this blob of grey matter is full speed ahead insisting on some really amazing story ideas. Not the ideas that will push my current projects past their hurdles, noooo. New. Better, even, it insists, although we've had this argument before and supposedly we agreed that comparisons, for better or worse, are creative death.

Look, I know this brain is the very same singular one I own and not actually a separate entity, but there's such a thing as duality (and more) in a single house and sometimes it's a whole damn deck of cards. It takes one over-excited toddler thought screaming '52 pickup!' to send the whole deck flying. So, however you describe it, this is one brain warring with me on what use my body can actually be to my aspirations. Even when I surrender to prove I am physically incapable, it will wait all of a minute before sending a 'how about now?'

Logic and impulse might as well be two ever-present entities. Because ultimately I know they're both pricks, too blunt to be trusted to control my mouth, I let them do battle in the cranium. They knock against my teeth and make my eyes g fuzzy, but more often than not, if impulse doesn't tumble out prematurely, logic will prevail through sheer stamina. Impulse likes naps and ice cream far more than fighting with logic.

Logic, on the other hand, is on vacation when I'm not feeling well. So here I be, tapping away at a tablet to humor impulse until it scurries off for naps. Logic makes a story work. Yes. I wholly agree. But you need not a lot of anything to entertain rough ideas.

Are my notes coherent? Only by the grace of autocorrect could that be possible. I'm not even sure I'm hitting the keys that make words. I'm reading every sentence three times just to make sure they're not abusing the English language too unforgivably.

What I'd really like to do is write in earnest. However, logic sent a postcard and informs me it'll be back once I get my shit together. 

Psh. Logic, you're an abused lover that thinks it can't do better. We both know I'll never get my shit together.