Do you not like my mouth words?

I feel like the source of my writing (my brain? my muse?) is sitting on its throne and taunting me, ala Loki. "Oh, it must burn you to have come so close."

I'm writing this frottage scene that is taking three years to go from my
fingers into the Google Docs page. Word, delete, delete, bang head on
keyboard, listen to Metallica, word word word OMG it's working!!! oh
this is terrible, delete, delete, listen to Metallica. Repeat.