Nothing to say.
Absolutely nothing to say.
And yet I feel I should say something, you know... I don't want you to worry about me. And really, I'm quite all right.
Of course, you have to factor in a week spent more or less in isolation due to the snow. And the stubbornly loitering effects of a cold that has me waking up stuffed every morning. And the disappearance of the sun. That doesn't help my level of creativity, either.
And on top of that, the snow delayed the delivery of my latest batch of lithium, and I've been stretching them out to one every other day. Since the lithium boosts the effectiveness of my other meds, here's yet another blanket smothering my moods. (For those who are concerned the pills are on their way, and I'm hoping they will arrive tomorrow. Tuesday.)
My other creative output is choked by writer's block. Maybe it's spilling over. I'm trying to finish the first draft of a story and it is resisting. I know what some of the issues are, issues specific to the story, and am trying to trick myself into renewed producton. And I haven't gone completely dry. There have been some poems, along with more than the usual intense declarations of devotion to the sadist.
Ah, yes. The sadist.
[she disappears into a reverie]
Where was I?
I was there...
And since then,
[she smiles contentedly.]
I think I'll go back there now