I’d chalk it up to this whole mercury-in-retrograde thing, but there has to be more to it than that. My entire life feels like it’s swirling out of control, and I can’t stop it. I can’t write, I can’t think straight, things are going wrong all around me. It’s like there’s a tornado going on, and I’m standing in the middle of the vortex—untouched—and I can’t grab any of it.
I’m determined that I’m going to write SOMETHING, even if it’s only here, just for the sake of putting two coherent words together. I know where I want Gabriel’s Angel to go next, and I’m on page 77 (because I went back and fixed a few things; the WIP actually stops at page 84) but lately I can’t think of the next word. I’d go back to Worlds Apart, but I can’t focus on that either. I’ve misplaced things in the house that aren’t reappearing, and I can’t relax.
Maybe this is that midlife thing I’ve heard about. It’s like the intermission in a very long (hopefully at least 80 year) play, when people get up and mill around and stretch their legs before they go back to the job at hand. The problem is, I’m a very focused person. If I have a task in front of me and I’ve sunk my teeth into it, it’s hard to say, “Okay, break time.” I want to keep going ’til it’s done, and right now, it’s as if the Universe doesn’t want me to do that. Very hard to do battle with the Universe, but at the moment I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter.
So here I am, trying to write whatever comes to mind, until the 2nd Act begins.
Suddenly I’m reminded of one of John’s favorite poems:
Here I sit,
Tried to sh*t
But only farted.