I might as well tell it to the world:

I have writer's block.

Whenever I want to write about enchanted forests and worlds dwelling deep in my mind the only thing I can do is stare at the blank screen of my laptop. I won't even try with my computer anymore; it's a case long put on hold.

The dining room is the only place that doesn't feel like the beach. Although, having a laptop on you doesn't help you cool off.

Eh, I suppose it's just high time to kick back and move on from something I thought I'd do forever.

That, or maybe I'm so tired that I can focus.

A mystery, I suppose.

Now where can I call Scooby-doo?