I’m in a funk. I want to write. I certainly have a lot to write about-but my writing is so completely linked to my mood that I feel anything I write at this moment will be completely melancholy and down trodden. The irony is-that I should be writing because writing is what makes me happy. I’m happiest after I’ve sat and had a good long bout of writing.
I can’t tell you how many times today I came to my blog, and looked at the “add new” tab, wanting to write-but not doing so-until now. And as I ramble I can feel that electric feeling that comes into my fingers as my brain synapses start to power up and zip back and forth and yet…I’m hesitant.
I’m feeling pretty listless and completely unambitious. Like a person who has found themselves in freezing water and begins to fall asleep when hypothermia settles into their organs. Sleep. That sounds very appealing. Maybe that’s the problem. I’ve been getting a lot of sleep lately-more than usual, has too much sleep screwed me up? I doubt that. I just feel like I’m drowning right now and I’ve got to find the energy to kick back up to the surface and tread water until the tide finally takes me home.