Something is missing in my day. I don’t feel like writing. It’s just not working.
It’s not writer’s block. I don’t feel stopped up or prevented in any way from expressing myself. I simply lack the gumption to get it done.
Ideas aren’t an issue really. I still have them; I just can’t get anywhere trying to express them.
The world doesn’t seem right.
I had something similar in Gr. 9 where for three weeks I was, for lack of a better word, normal.
Nothing seemed to excite me about the natural world. It was an odd feeling. Until that point I was continually struck by the beauty of the natural world.
I’d look out my bedroom window at this magnificent spruce tree and beyond it to the forest.
Labrador Tea grew around it and I loved the contrast of the rust colored underside of the leaves against the green topside. Back then I had no clue what it was, nor how good it tastes as a tea, but it was there and it was pretty and it felt good to be amongst it.
This feeling of blahness lasted three weeks. I woke up one morning and the wonder was back in the world. It stayed.
And now something similar is happening. Dew doesn’t shimmer on the morning grass during my morning prayer cycle. The tree I stand underneath doesn’t feel as kind.
Of course it’s just me. The world as such hasn’t changed. I’m blah and I don’t like it.
I suspect I’ve shut down for retooling.
I further suspect there’s a big change afoot and I need this rest period on the outside to prevent me from paying too much attention as the adjustments are made way deep inside.
I’m all for change and I know everything will be better, stronger and way more exciting once everything is back at my-normal.
But for now I’m blah and I’m not writing and it’s just not fun.
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