speed trials

i'm lying on my bed beside a giant pile of laundry which is patiently waiting to be folded. it periodically looks over its shoulder at me to see what's going on, to see if there will be a wearing, a folding, a feeding, or maybe a walk somewhere in its near future. i'm pretty content here, under the blankets with the computer in my lap, though, so i don't think it's going to happen.

i'm having trouble with my blog. i'm trying to do all the stuff i usually do - write about sex and fun things and fiction and muse about life and love and sweaters and the sweet hereafter, but i can't find much spark. usually i scroll through the blogroll, there, and come up with at least a glimmer of inspiration, but i've been having trouble with that, even, the last little while.

i have these crumpled pieces of paper with half scribbled thoughts and barely formed ideas and none of the words are coherent - none of them flow together. i feel fractured and stretched in too many directions and the letters are running in front of me like fish swimming silver scales reflecting in the sunshine sparkling in the drops of water coming up of the rocks. i can't pull them in can't reel them in.