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For numerous reasons that exist both within my mind and throughout my daily life, I have somehow become bankrupt of inspiration. I'm not clever or witty. I don't know exactly just what to say or how to say it.
My ability to constantly generate, extend and upcycle ideas - much to the absolute exhaustion of anyone in close proximity has since dried up - yielding only painfully deserted, dried up cracks in my once flourishing stream of wonder and creativity.
What happens when there's nothing left to write?
You write anyway. Even if it's not very good writing.
Someone recently suggested that this creative drought is because I have no sense of longing in my life. That perhaps I'm content with no room to yearn for anything more. That's not exactly the case. While I agree that I am devoid of longing, it's not because I am overindulged with privilege and convenience. Maybe my sense of ideation starves because I haven't mentally struggled this long or this hard in a really long time. Maybe I'm so astonished at life's twists and turns, it's simply too overwhelming for my words. Hard to say. Maybe I need to look around and be supremely grateful for everyone and everything in my life.
In the battlefield of my mind, I can't decide which side I'm on. Or what I'm fighting for, or why. Scenarios like this typically make for great writing, and yet my keyboard is silenced. I need to identify the demons that are holding me back - and fight like hell to slay them.
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