Prison.

 I'm in prison. Not literal, of course. Can you imagine? But I feel like I can't escape or take a detour, an exit. There isn't one. I almost had a panic attack earlier. Or anxiety? I honestly can't tell the difference. 

I'm tired of this cycle. I'm so damn tired of the same.

I'm on draft 6 of Pearl Hart. The old girl has come a long way since I started this blog. Which, by the way, has moved from Blogger onto Squarespace. I had a desperate urge to publish, to exist, so I decided to pay for a public site. A year and a half of blogging. Not as much as I should have. I wish I could've written once a week, at least last year, but too much depression prevented it. 

Can you help me escape? Distract the guards, and I'll throw out the sheets I made into a rope. Meet me in Mexico. Will you be there? I'll buy the tequila and tacos; you just bring your company! We can spend all afternoon bathing in the burnt sun and drown in Aztecian waters. I'll do anything to be anywhere but in this prison. 

What would you do in my situation? I'll take notes. Would you quit everything at once and say fuck it? Would you persist and focus on the projects and their completions? Hold on, I need to sharpen my pencil. Can you repeat that last part for me? Quit and say fuck it? 

I play Dungeons and Dragons now. I'm balls-deep in it. I can totally lose myself twice a month. Bless. I want to make my own campaign. I have this excellent, dark idea, but I need more time! .Sorry, I don't mean to yell. I'm just frustrated.

Because I'm in prison.