[blank]

I was gonna write tonight. I was! I was gonna sit down, and create brilliance. I've even installed myself with tea and candles and everything. I was going to write something splendid, something moving, something that actually WAS something for a change.

And what am I writing? More "blank page"-crap!

I refuse to believe that God has give me this overactive imagination if he didn't want me to use it for something constructive. Because if I've just got it for my own amusement then seriously, God; you gave me too much.

Overanalyzing to the degree I'm capable of is only fun if you can overanalyze it into stories, or scripts or something that can be used for something else than a blogpost!

I do have ideas. I have TONS of ideas. They'd be fun to write too. I started one of them. A love-story, of sorts. Haven't decided how to end it, but I'm leaning towards your standard, happy, mushy ending. Considering how pissed I get when people rob me of them.

It's even in Norwegian. I haven't written in Norwegian in ages, and it turns out I'm no good at it anymore. Why write in Norwegian, when everything sounds so much better in English?

How am I ever going to write professionally, when I can't even use my own language?