Connecticut

I hate just having words to say and type and read and hear. I always needed more and now there are no words. I don’t want to ever talk about anything life related now. As if just writing anything like this is not obnoxious enough. Even the job interview yesterday. “It went well” I keep saying. What does that even mean? Now though, pages and pages of empty nothing, feeling like an exhaust pipe spitting out nothing but the same old shit every fifteen minutes. No one will be the same, nobody can replace or substitute. What a shit place to be for probably all winter like this.