Aargh! It seems that I have forgotten how to write. Or maybe I have just forgotten how to think of things to write about. Or actually, maybe I have forgotten how to think of interesting things, to write about entertainingly. Whatever. The fact of the matter is that there is nothing but a big blank space in the place where my ideas used to live. The playground where my thoughts used to skip and slide, and squeal with the childish pleasure of a pocketful of possibility is deserted and silent, save for the ominous clanging of the left-open gate that chimes hollowly in the chill breeze of emptiness.
Yeah… I’m not a whole lot of fun to be around at the moment. I may be “experiencing a depression”. Note that I do not say that “I am depressed”. I refuse to identify with this dull mood of disquietude that has decended on me like a brain-fogging layer of nimbostratus. Instead, I will observe it, tolerate it as quietly as I can, and wait for it to lift.
I know from experience that this feeling will pass. I also know there is not a lot I can do to hurry it along. I don’t know where it comes from and I don’t know why it goes when it does. But I know that one day I will wake up feeling different, and once again my mind will be fizzing and bubbling with the intoxicating brew of possibility that is Life. And I will be positively bursting with Things to Write About once more.
And on that uncharacteristically optimistic note, I will return to my weary wallow of self pity and insect bites, and leave you with the (slightly scary) promise that “I’ll be back”.