Fussy

What I want to write about is not what my annoying brain wants to think about.

What I want to eat is not what my annoying fridge is currently stocking.

What I want to listen to, I have not a clue.

I wanted to walk in the sun, but I settled for the grey chill.

So now I will sit in silence, pick at a plate of chicken and veggies, and stare at a blank page until something gives.