I’m in a funk. I want to write. I cer­tainly have a lot to write about-but my writ­ing is so com­pletely linked to my mood that I feel any­thing I write at this moment will be com­pletely melan­choly and down trod­den. The irony is-that I should be writ­ing because writ­ing is what makes me happy. I’m hap­pi­est after I’ve sat and had a good long bout of writing.

I can’t tell you how many times today I came to my blog, and looked at the “add new” tab, want­ing to write-but not doing so-until now. And as I ram­ble I can feel that elec­tric feel­ing that comes into my fin­gers as my brain synapses start to power up and zip back and forth and yet…I’m hesitant.

I’m feel­ing pretty list­less and com­pletely unam­bi­tious. Like a per­son who has found them­selves in freez­ing water and begins to fall asleep when hypother­mia set­tles into their organs. Sleep. That sounds very appeal­ing. Maybe that’s the prob­lem. I’ve been get­ting a lot of sleep lately-more than usual, has too much sleep screwed me up? I doubt that. I just feel like I’m drown­ing right now and I’ve got to find the energy to kick back up to the sur­face and tread water until the tide finally takes me home.

*This post was orig­i­nally pub­lished at Wri­ter­Dance.