Of Inaction and Thirst

I long to write, about feeling, about living, about yearning, but I am stuck. I fail myself on the regular, unable to use the algorithms of language to translate the mish-mash of emotion twirling themselves around in my belly into anything comprehensible.  

I want to be able to use words to reach out, connect to, touch others. I fail. Repeatedly. What is left is complex isolation and an inability to articulate even the most basic of needs: I am thirsty. I haven't had a drink of water that has nourished me in a long time. 

How do I get up to get the glass?