If it's so easy, why can't I do it?

It's not that I don't have many many interesting things to say here, because I do. During my day, so many things happen, so many little touching moments pass through and around me that if I were to write them all down for your reading pleasure, your heart would melt with agony. The myriad thoughts, the tiny longings and the overwhelming pleasure of a life well-lived define me.

And yet, if I sit down to tell about any of these things, they flee and I'm left here, a lumpen mess of missed words, bungled sentences and grammar traps. Where do the beautiful ideas, the gorgeous turns of phrase, go?

I believe that they run away to the recesses of my brain as soon as it's possible that they'd have to make an appearance. Perhaps they don't like to be judged; I've never been one to submit work to my peers without a great deal of trepidation, and instead I'd rather avoid it at all costs.

It's too bad, really, because I have some great things to say. I just need some kind of earth mover for the brain to dredge them up.