It seems lately that everytime I try to write something, it doesn’t want to translate. The thoughts get caught just on the tips of my fingers. My finerprints act as a maze that the my mind just can’t escape from. It’s becoming increasingly fruatrating with every hour that ticks by. I bet you’re thinking ‘an hour.. what a small amount of time to be frustrated with’, right? Wrong. Lately time has been ticking by agonizing slow. I can almost hear the seconds wasting away. Fuck. Just talking about it is making me anxious. I think I’m gonna go for a run.. outside.. why do I even have a gym membership. Oh yes I remember. For nights when I get off of work. Hm. I’m… what’s the word. Rambling? Goodbye.