Writing

[Drabble] Sep. 6th, 201

He needed a new notebook, he thought. He had so many, he knew. But he needed a new one - one with rings so that he could fold the book back neatly in half and write on both sides comfortably. More than anything he wanted to write. He also knew what writing did to him: if he spent too many consecutive hours writing and writing and writing, he knew it would interfere with his other responsibilities in life. And at some point he’d be so frustrated because he could not come up with any fresh ideas, or at least ideas he could express in words and that formed logical sequence with the rest of his ideas. He would want to keep writing until he got it. But he knew that that was no use, because his mind would only get more muddled up. He would have to take a break from it. Return days, weeks, or months later, hoping it would all be clear. 

But there would be no hope.

There is do.