I'm sitting in Neary's pub off Grafton Street. A hundred things are screaming through my head.
I want to write this post.
I want to listen to the slightly interesting conversations happening around me.
I want to text someone, but I don't.
I want to finish the book in my bag.
I desperately want to write but I have stupid writer's block.
I want to think about work.
I want to make an entry in my diary.
I want to text my friend and cancel meeting them for coffee.
I want to take covert pictures.
I want to just stare out at the rain and see what thoughts form.
I'm paralysed and doing nothing, except this of course.
I live like this almost all the time.