I shuffle my papers, straightening them up. Line my pens up all nicely for when I think of with something worth writing down. I whistle the tunes of a few different songs all playing at once and fighting for control.
Then it comes. An idea, at last. I scatter my papers as I rush for a new one, disturb my pens finding one with enough ink.
I was always taught to write what was true.
But first, a title: ‘I’m Stuck’.