Empty Pages

My mind whirls with such frequency these days. Yet, I am gripped by an overwhelming madness that has been creeping steadily on my soul. This perception is so glimmering obvious to me that I can't find the precise words to express my tribulation without careening off into dimensions yet unfounded. Some would call this writer's block, but for me it is as if I took a gigantic "bong toke" of head-spinning pot and tried to fix a flat tire.

I inspect the wheel in question and scratch my head for a bit. Then I circle the vehicle three or four times for no other reason than to try to grasp the situation. Next, I open the trunk and pull out the crap that is covering the spare and I notice a book I hadn't read in years and proceed to sit on the bumper and read. After a few pages I become parched and go into my car and look for my water bottle, whereby I see the pile of trash that has been piling up in my back seat and think to myself, "I need to clean that up."

I now need a plastic bag to contain all the refuse so I go back to the trunk and remember I am supposed to be changing a tire. Needless to say, it will take me another 30 minutes to figure out what I am doing and finish the job.

I need to focus...