If Schrödinger’s Cat Was a Writer

I can’t decide which is worse:

Being unable to put the words together to put pen to paper

Being able to put some words to paper but knowing it isn’t the right time for those words so having to immediately send those words to purgatory

Being able to put words to paper but being so dissatisfied that they are immediately hated and deleted only to repeat the process over again

What I can say with absolute certainty is that once my door is closed and I’m shut in to write, no one but me knows whether I’m writing or a non-writing writer courting madness.

In that sense, I’m definitely Schrödinger’s cat.

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