Or anxious doldrums?
Last night, and again this morning, I've been haunted by a nagging disappointment, a sense of expectations not met.
After I returned home from class and helped fix a light supper, I sat down at my computer—and I was surprised when nothing happened. I couldn't get purchase on any ideas, couldn't find a way to dig in and start.
That isn't unusual. I often start with great hopes for great inspiration—and I don't often get it. I go on. I noodle around. I shift words in poems I've been worrying over lately. Why was last night different?
And why again this morning? It's an odd feeling, being on the cusp of something, not knowing what. Is it a block? Or is it just a lull as the momentum for a project slows? Maybe I just think it's writing, when actually it's the reading this Saturday and the trip to Santa Fe next weekend.
But I wish I could put my finger on it, figure it out, start.
What gets you going when you feel you really need to be going?