I am having one of those evenings where I stare at my cursor hoping there is magic in it. I just seem to have dropped into the Lake of Dull. That muddy water where ideas sink to the bottom and the more I stir it the worse it gets. Maybe I should get a glass of wine and sip on inspiration. That might work or it could fail and all I would have would be drunk blogging.
I know I expect too much out of myself. Everyone hits a slump. I just hate it when I do. There is that writer fear I will lose my voice. Part of it is an unrealistic fear I may succumb to the disease my mother had...Alzheimer's. I try and not dwell on it, but every time I forget something or do something odd I wonder. Because of it I end up saying to myself, "I am writing as fast as I can."
So many thoughts spinning in my head. I try to shake them off, but when one leaves another enters. More than anything it is probably the first anniversary of my father's death that has me feeling so morose. I miss him so. January 13th will be a hard day. Oh and then February will follow with its anniversary. My father-in-law died on February 24th of last year. Of all days it could happen it happened on my birthday. My birthday will now forever be connected to his death.
I guess I just needed to say what was bothering me. After all isn't the point of therapy stating what is bothering you and getting help to deal or get over it? I call writing my pencil therapy....I guess I just had my session.