I have no idea what to write about.
This happens to me, with fair regularity - but quite often it is a temporary thing. It may or may not correspond to stuff going on in my life - stressed out, thoroughly depressed, working forever, that kind of thing. Sometimes, it just happens.
I've been trying to write something. Not something specific. ANYTHING. It just hasn't been happening. I've managed perhaps a dozen words. I'm dripped dry.
I just...have no idea.
Like, a big part of it is having no will to actually make the words appear. I want writing, but the doing of the thing is where I am failing. Another problem - I'm finding it hard to focus on any one thing for longer than ten minutes at a time. It dances across a hundred topics an hour, never settling for long.
Maybe it's the fact that I am stuck indoors - in my sleep I did something rubbish to my right knee, it's not holding my weight right now. It's getting better, a day at a time, but still - the only thing you want to do is go outside when it's the only thing you can't do.
Maybe it's the state of the world, and the politics affecting me, the people I care about, and everyone else. This country is stuck in limbo, with our health service slowly being carved away and the government doing nothing except trying to ignore the huge mistake it is apparently determined to keep making. The US has a gestapo separating children from parents and a constant attack on anything good or just. Paying any attention to the news is a depressing thing, even if it is a necessary thing a lot of the time - I can't bear the idea of being out of touch, of knowing why things are getting worse and who exactly is making those decisions.
Maybe it is just happening to me, as other things tend to do. My anxiety has good days and bad days. So does my depression. Maybe right now is just a bad day for my writing.
But as I said about going outside: the only thing you want to do is the one thing you can't.
I remember, once, heading out to have a blood test. On the way I passed by a grocers. I caught sight of some celery and I thought: "Mmm, I could just go for some celery."
I really don't like celery much. I just knew I couldn't have it, because I had to fast for fourteen hours before the blood test. The moment I left the surgery, thoughts of celery would vanish - I would want something serious and substantial to eat.
I just couldn't have it, so I wanted it.
So here I am. Sat here in front of a screen, trying to will the whatever in my brain onto the text box.
I guess this will do.