couldn’t write for beans
and the keyboard was dyslexic.
read a cooled-off story.
It stank like five day old fish.
read Dana Stabenow’s new mystery
and marveled at the complex plot.
wondered why I couldn’t think
of a simple plot, much less a complex one.
asked the muse to come out and play
but she failed to respond.
wallowed in dismay at my limitations
embarrassed that I ever thought I could write.
stayed out of the kitchen
because I couldn’t stand the heat.
Christ, how I hated it.