I’m finding it difficult to write lately, although from time to time I do feel “struck” by an idea or other reason to write.
Last night I turned my back on a poem. I was riding the bus home and lines started rolling. I thought, I’ll just toss these into the computer when I get there. But when I got home, I realized I needed to run to my mailbox (well, drive, actually) and I put that ahead of the poem. By the time I got back home, the poem wasn’t there anymore.
I’m also unsatisfied with much of my writing these past few months. Even the last ms. I feel ambivalent about this. I feel like I’m very vanilla.
But I also feel tired all the time these days and it’s probably contributing to this stretch of ennui. I’m physically tired, emotionally tired, intellectually tired. My brain can handle little more than shooting heads off zombies and 56 minutes of American Idol.
When I go through periods like this, the $64,000 question seems to be: what am I doing with my life.
But that isn’t the real question.