I have written a line of poetry in months. Ok - in the spirit of honest blog-ness, I haven't written a remotely acceptable line of poetry in months. I just can't seem to find a string of thoughts to put together.
The last time this happened to me, I got back into the groove by forcing myself to write every day. Slog through the crap, and eventually the decent stuff starts to shine through a bit. I've been meaning to get back to daily slogging, but so far I just stare at the empty page thinking about the other things I should be doing.
I'm continuously amazed at how much laundry piles up over the course of a few days. And how quickly the white shower base goes gray with soap scum. You wouldn't believe how the dirty dishes cover the kitchen counter.
These daily menial things have created some large roadblock to creativity. At this point, I'm too tired to try to climb to the other side.
I would love to say things are good but things aren't quite that nice. It's a bad time of year for me anyway and all the added bumps are throwing me around. The last few weeks have made me yearn to be a smoker again, so I take deep inhales of clean air instead.
I miss everyone.
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