The sun isn’t even up yet, and I’ve been awake for almost three hours. It was bugging me that I didn’t have a blog post ready to go for this morning, and my brain wasn’t going to let me sleep until I had something ready to offer the masses. So, I got out of bed, went to my office, and wrote this long, prolific post, right?
Aw, heck no. I loafed around in my chair and drank coffee, alternating reading a book and writing in my journal. Here it is, almost “publish o’clock” and I’m left with nothing. Some people work well under a deadline. I, evidently, am not one of those people. I am sad to report that this sad, little post is going to be the best I can offer you because, well, I procrastinated all weekend.
To be clear, I had an extremely busy last-few-days. We cleaned the living room, changing the winter cozy decor back to our spring/summer bright colors. I know we still have four months of winter left, but I’m already so sick of the snow and cold that I want the option of closing the curtains and pretending I’m on a tropical island, and if you don’t think I’ll put a Hawaiian music record on, you’re wrong. Because I will, by god.
But writing, oof. I can’t tell you how many times I sat down in front of a blinking cursor, trying to get my weekly short story out, and it was just not happening. I even found a picture that inspired me to tell a story, and it wasn’t coming out. I’m creatively constipated.
In lieu of a story, though, I probably should have attempted to write a blog post, and I just didn’t. In hindsight, this was the same thing that happened to me when I was working with the literary magazine. I spent so much time reading what other people had written that the last thing I wanted to do when I had free time was to word. So word, I did not. While I’m not staring down an inbox of submissions for my consideration, I am reading a ton for my classes, including the daunting task of completing Huckleberry Finn at warp speed. I have crammed so much into my brain the last two weeks that I don’t think there’s enough room for anything else to come out.
This is not a comfortable place for a writer to be.