Full of depression and inaction

I'm not writing.  I'm a triceratops stuck in the La Brea tar pits of emotion.  I'm out of gas,  milking inertia and riding the clutch to get as far as I can down the ramp before everything stops.  There's a cold, hard, smooth concrete wall at the bottom.  I'm frozen in an existential tazer, chastised with every breath.

It's that moment in Missile Command when you've missed the incoming ICBM and can do nothing as your base is about to vaporized.

Got any quarters left?


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