mystery upon misery

at four a.m. Buk would have a whole different set of problems. 
that may be the difference between a writer and whatever I am.

i feel like i just scooped out my stomach with an ice cream serving spoon. one of those old style spoons with the lever that scraped the back so the ice cream fell right out.

i don't have a single thing left in there to spew out. even this little tirade about not being inspired is so very pedestrian.

maybe those other problems aren't so great either, but at least i would be writing.