Consequences of not writing daily
I was going to write a short heartwarming story about how when I was 19, I gave my first serious boyfriend a stuffed puffin I sewed from a pattern I created myself. And how 11 years later, we're still good friends and now his toddler plays with that same puffin.
There's a good story there! You can probably see it bloom before your eyes.
And I can't for the life of me write it in a way that does it justice. Like, at all. It's a mess. And I bet if I hadn't taken a month break, I'd be able to write that story and you'd feel like you were there too.