Just write for five minutes and don’t stop. Why does it seem — feel — so hard? Why do the words dry out when I need them the most?
What else takes five minutes and so much agony? Brushing and flossing. I hate flossing; I can’t remember the last time I flossed. That’s disgusting.
Vacuuming the rug. Bathing Jane. Clearing the front seat for a passenger.
Where am I going with this?
It’s like there’s a cloud in my brain — it’s blowing the words that rally behind my eyes, keeping them from my lips, my fingertips. I’m not sure I have the strength to fight it.