I'm trapped in a story that just won't come out right. It's like making a bed when you fluff the sheet over the mattress and every time it comes down it has wrinkles. So you keep walking around tugging and straightening and before you know it there is sheet on the floor on his side, and on yours it barely reaches the edge.
This happens in writing, I've written enough stories to know this. And yet every time I get stuck like this, I have an all new appreciation for the homemakers who iron their sheets.