I've been wracking my brain lately, trying to figure out why I'm so depressingly un-motivated to blog these days. It's weird. Every time I sit down to try and write, the tongue in my head that goes wag-wag-wag all day long, suddenly dries up and cleaves to the roof of my... mind. All that constant undercurrent of thoughts just slows to a trickle. An uninteresting and uninspiring trickle.
I think it just might be that the clamor and chaos of my life has abruptly reached critical mass in the last month and I now no longer have any room at all in my head for my own thoughts. In any moment that there is no childish clatter all-but-drowning out Me, I necessarily use up the last of my available energy to just Be. There's nothing left for creating anything to share.
I am only vaguely unhappy about this. Or perhaps guilty might be a better word. Vaguely guilty for allowing this part of Me to fade out... die off...without putting up a fight even. But mostly my life is too full of other things to spend much time bothering about it.
And yet, all my life is littered through with things that I've quit, as I move on to new and other interests. A veritable Hansel and Gretel trail of unfinished projects, littering the forest, showing the path back to... what? The Me that finds security in always having a little more to do than I can possibly accomplish, thus always avoiding that lonely insecure feeling of "what now?"
So I mostly (but not all) want to push through, shove off this listlessness, this creative langor that has settled around my mind, and return again to the siren call of the Words and the Stories. To persevere, for once, in this one project, at least. To continue to create a record of myself and my family. To make some kind of mark, however faint.
We'll see how long that lasts...