Sometimes I have a hard time forcing myself to write. Today is one of those days. Anxiety again, I suppose. A little bit of writer’s block which is really just a fear of commitment – if I start something too complex I must commit to finishing even though I’m lazy, unmotivated, don’t care to get that into right now. It’s a difficult state to blog in, or even write a letter on behalf of the union for that matter. No juice, creativity, jazz in my fingertips right now and I cast around the ideas inside me for something that is brief, to the point, spit-out-able in 15 minutes or less.
No dice, yah? No chance my thoughts are simple enough to write in a paragraph, and I have had many ideas to write about lately so it’s not a case of being thoughtless but perhaps too thoughtful – overwhelmed by the jumble of thoughts and topics. So many things I could focus on. So many things I could write about. If only the gate would swing open, the one that’s containing all these words and ideas and let them out again. I feel pent up, strange in myself today. Wishing I could have a little cave like the limpets above. I’m sure it’s all going to be okay.