Took a long nap after work tonight, from 6:30 until 11:30. I'd planned to sleep for a full eight hours but my cats would have none of that nonsense. They decided to hold an impromptu game of seek and destroy the sheet monster.
The sheet monster of course being by feet, my knees, hands, my groin, or whatever unfortunate part of me happened to be making a lump in the sheet at any particular moment.
My lightest cat, Buddy, weighs seventeen pounds. Happy weighs twenty pounds. Nugget is made of some material so dense that he carries his own gravitational field around with him, and any attempt to weigh him is therefore useless.
So now it's almost 1:00. I've watched the rest of the Survivor reunion show and I'm drinking a yummy Rogue Imperial Stout (62) in an attempt to fuel my creative fires.
I don't think I have any creative fires left to fuel. I've been feeling completely wrung out for the past couple of days. Even when I try to stir the passions within me, I get nothing. I spent a good (just right, not obsessive at all) amount of time yesterday staring at a picture that, at one time, would never fail to inspire me to write something halfway decent.
But yesterday all it inspired me to do was feel like an idiot for wasting a year of my life.
I was talking with CoffeeDude the other night about my 'blog. He'd asked if I was still writing in it. I said of course, but it's become really boring lately. The things that I used to write about are no longer relevant, and all that's left are pretty bland topics. Then, when something interesting does happen, this fucking discretion thing kicks in and so I don't give the subject all of the attention it deserves.
But I suppose, like all other slumps, this too shall pass. Eventually.