Tuesday. How difficult it’s to write when you lack inspiration or when you feel your heart oppressed. In the first case, you are dry and the words seem to evade you. In the second case is like trying to make a ball go through a hose. You know you have to make the ball pass but hell, it’s difficult. The hose could break or the ball could get stuck.
Maybe that’s why I still don’t dare to use the pressure cooker. And it’s exactly 1.5 years that I got it. I’m afraid it will blow up. Just as I’m afraid I will blow up. I feel like I’m filling the darn tank too much and the stupid escape valve is blocked.
That’s why I need to write. It’s my therapy and one of the only ways I can purge.
Why is it so easy to tell someone else to relax?…
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