20 January 2011

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Malaise.  Ennui.  Apathy, even.  I sat down to write tonight, because that is what I do, being the alone-type loner that I am, and tired.  Oh, and short on cash.  So a big night out is not in the cards.

But it has been difficult lately.  I like, no, I LOVE to write.  Probably explains why I am so good at putting together business letters and reports and clever memos on topics big and small.  I actually enjoy that sort of thing.  Especially if it involves pure research.

I love to write for the sheer joy of it, too.  More so than just plain writing for mundane purposes.  I feel the pressure in my head daily, ebbing and flowing throughout the day.  It tracks closely with my mood and energy level, and my internal "weather".

But lately, my friends, it has been a bit of a strain.  It has been like having a fistful of kindling but no matches, and realizing that maybe you didn't want the hassle of starting a fire anyway.  But you know you need the heat, so you try rubbing sticks together just the same.

An even better analogy just occurred to me, because I just had a serious plumbing problem occur, and I have pipes on the mind.*  Lately for me, writing has been like turning the taps on to a slow drip to keep the water moving so the pipes don't freeze.  No one likes to waste the water (especially those who have to pay the bill) but it sure beats burst plumbing.

Maybe its the winter doldrums.  Maybe its the slow thinking brought on by cold and stress and fatigue.  All I know is that, as much as I would like sometimes to just put the pen down or the keyboard away and rest a bit, I feel like I would burst if I didn't write something.

So this is it for the night.  Too tired for a political rant, too dulled for a zingy comedy bit, even a little too worn out to write about how I think I may have (sort of, maybe) flirted with the waitress as I ate dinner tonight** (I was too tired and lazy to cook), this will have to do.

The pipes may be really cold, but the important thing is to keep them flowing.  Write, write, write...if you want to be a writer.  That's what I tell myself.

*It involved three drains, a sluggish garbage disposal, one tub besmirched by backed-up tea leaves and egg shells, one gallon of Drano and vigorous plunging.  I hope I got it all.
**Perhaps another time.


  1. I can relate to all of this.... even the blocked drains! :O) I enjoyed the analogies you used..... and your labels. :D

  2. It's January, Gumby. January is a God awful month. Even the birds that hang around all year are depressed.
    Hang in there, Hon. Spring is just around the corner. That's when man and beast alike become twitter-pated.

  3. a) You are amazingly prolific.
    b) Your work is always thoughtful. AND you get to thoughtful every day, despite a).
    c) Mayhap you need new inspiration? Like this: http://www.npr.org/2011/01/08/132744031/three-minute-fiction-round-6-laughing-and-crying
    d) You need a compost bin (tea leaves & egg shells = perfect compost, plus if you don't have an outdoor composter, you could be a ninja compost-leaver in other people's gardens. Really, it's like being the compost-bunny-santa all rolled into one beardy package!)

  4. I do not ever remember hating winter like I do this one. I cannot wait until it warms up, and I can get some sun and out of this hum drum. There is another word for what I really want to say, but I will behave myself...freakin is pretty close...freakin snow and cold dreary days...

  5. IG...I know, I know. :)
    Lately I've been knitting to keep my brain off of the (bad) writing. But it still seeps through the cracks.

  6. I vote for skipping January AND February altogether. Who's in???

  7. I am tired tonight too. And have been on the computer for much of the day. My eyes are strained I guess.

  8. I'm with Vodka in skipping the 'uary' months altogether.
    Flirting with a waitress? That's also a good cure for 'uary' months...


"Let your laws come undone
Don't suffer your crimes
Let the love in your heart take control..."

-'The Hair Song', by Black Mountain

Tell me what is in your heart...