I keep stubbing my toes on piles of discarded projects. I am continually grazing my elbows on the unexplored ideas that poke out from the corridors of my thoughts. I just hit my funny bone on a really wonderful idea, got smashed to bits by the speeding bus that carried my inspiration. I have a concussion from cramming things into my brain. I can't turn around without tripping over a deadline. I have two black eyes from the unrelenting beatings that stress keeps giving me. I have splinters of beauty under my skin, that will probably get infected if they don't get extracted soon. My ribs hurt from laughing at my own naivete.
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