I'm going through one of those mini-phases where I really really want to write something and I can't come up with a single damn thing to talk about. So frustrating. It makes me feel like I'm itching inside my skin, like my brain is at internally at odds because it wants something that it's unwilling to give to itself. It's especially frustrating because generally I'm feeling really good, and so this itch is like a fly in the ointment. (Or, as my orchestra conductor at NU used to say, flies in sour cream. This crazy old Russian man, waving his arms and screaming in his thick accent "You sound like flies in sour cream!" He also once told me, in a very scary voice, that Beethoven was a man with five human hearts. Intense.)
So I have nothing to write about. But I will soon. I hope.