A thousand different instruments play in my head.

Occasionally - actually, rarely - I can get them all to begin coordinating with one another, and the sound that is produced slowly begins to take form. As the pieces begin playing in unison, the symphony becomes harmonic and the music is beautiful. My soul sings.

Most of the time, though, it's just noise. And if you've ever had to work around noise, you know just how frustrating and awful it is. It's like perpetually having a report due in first period english class, and your homeroom is located directly across the hall from the first year symphonic band's practice room. Screeching where there should be smooth saxophone; clashing where there should be a light roll on the cymbals... Chaos.

This is what's in my brain, all day, every day.

I don't talk about it much, because it really makes no difference to talk about it. It's like complaining about the rain... It's still raining, and your pithy dismissal of it doesn't make it stop falling. But sometimes it's hell to even produce a quick 300 word piece for this journal. For those of you who've been reading my crap for a long time, this is pretty much the reason you may have gone as much as a month without reading a new story on Mentally Incontinent -- sometimes, trying to bang out 4,000+ words was tantamount to climbing Everest.

That's what's been going on lately. I don't quite know why I feel like you should know, aside from the fact that I feel like I should tell you. But that's what's up, yo.