I've been oddly out of it lately. I haven't felt like writing. Not that I don't have any ideas (though that's definitely part of it). It's more of a self-censorship, a problem I've had on an off since my late/teens early twenties. I can't seem to take pen to paper (or in my case finger to keyboard) without asking myself: with so much noise in the world, why add to it?

I dunno. I'm probably just making excuses. Lots of schoolwork to be done. Lots of writng. And me, sitting here, feeling like I should read the Phaedrus again, but too lazy to go over to the bookcase and fetch it. And even if I did fetch it, I'm not sure I'm in the mood to read it.

Perhaps a nap is in order. Or a tub interlude.