I just trashed another post. I am very uncertain these days about everything but my diet. I swear, I should start serving food here at the Cafe. I am making the most delicious and healthy things. I'd increase my customer base for sure.
Outside of that, however. . . .
I can't come up with a next sentence. I have been writing well for awhile, I think, but now nothing. Is this what they call "writer's block"? It's not just writing, though. I am becoming catatonic in all things. . . again. It happens to me sometimes. Nothing interests me and I become afraid to move. I can sit and stare into blank space for hours. The least little thing can send me into a meltdown. I need an objet de désir. Badly. Now.
Rather, I expect I'll get the same dull hum of yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I lack internal resources. So they say. Maybe a failure of imagination.
Or, and I should go back through the years and check, it could be the summer doldrums. Summer is too long here, too hot, too humid, too stressful. Everything is green. The flowers lose their blooms. Vicious vines begin to choke the life out of all beautiful things. Nerves are frayed as we watch hurricanes form in the Atlantic with a terrible viciousness.
Maybe it is only that and maybe I should check to see if this does or doesn't happen every year.
My imagination evaporates. The well runs dry.
We must make it through September, then October. These months are devastating.
Though. . . it may be that I am not returning for a new season at the factory. My life now remains the same season after season. I should travel. Surely airports are becoming less crowded as people return to school. I could go to New York, maybe be the only living boy. I have many other options, too.
But, you know. . . I just read that Covid is on the rise. I know someone whose father just died of it. Many of my friends are sick with "unknown" diseases just now. Nobody is checking.
Fear. Catatonia.
Maybe a change would do me good. I think those are lyrics to a once popular song. I know the melody but I just can't remember the words.
Lethargarian:
ReplyDeletea group of colorless folks who don't do anything, and have a strict schedule for it. People who don't think and/or don't pay attention often get stuck there.
"From 7:00 to 8:00 we take our early evening nap, and then for an hour before we go to bed at 9:00 we waste time. "As you can see, that leaves almost no time for brooding, lagging, plodding, or procrastinating, and if we stopped to think or laugh, we'd never get nothing done."
Phantom Tollbooth, the Doldrums
Funsuckers for sure