Once in an indeterminate while, a writer sits at her desk that bears the weight of her writing instruments, and considers their worth.

In this moment, she tries to free herself from the nagging sensation of ego, of arrogance, of self-assured construction of her safe reality and concentrates on herself instead of her writing for once. She knows that this is a hard task, for writing is a part of her identity as much as anything else, and recently, it weighs deeply in her mind.

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Ah... hahaha. Oh the naivety. Little did you know, Rego, that after 3 months of writer's block, your life would be thrown into chaos by forces plaguing your roommate that would cause you to have to switch jobs to a career you hate which would kill your desire to write AND, when you started thinking about getting back into it, you see a problematic headlines and the state of the world causing you to spiral into a creative slump that made you abandon horsewords altogether.

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