For a couple of weeks, I had a ton of ideas. I wrote through most of those ideas and have over a week of scheduled posts queued up; just a few remain.
And then everything dried up.
It’s not like I’ve said all there is to say. I have ideas for blog posts, but I’m not getting them out of my head. The old post ideas seem dull and tarnished, uninteresting. Surely there must be something more interesting to discuss.
I’ve been writing so much lately it was getting absurd. Daily blog posts that translated to 4 pages of printed text, plus comments and replies. A dissertation that’s about 380 pages long. I had more words to spill than I could type, and I type fast. I had more ideas than I could follow through on. I had begun to believe (yet again) that Niagara Falls would never run dry.
But it did, at least for now. I haven’t even 250 words today. I’m blank. Even a little sad. The self-righteous indignation evaporated. The hypomania must have been stronger than I thought, and now it’s over. It’s distressing to know that these moods are just going to keep coming and going. There will never be any real relief. I just want to swallow my pills and keep living my life without these constant potholes and roadblocks.
I guess that’s too much to ask.