My creative stores have been depleted. Writing, knitting, drawing... I have no ideas right now.
I keep writing (not here, obviously), but it's bad. I pick up my knitting and hope that something fun will occur to me, but it hasn't. I feel dry.
I've had writing slumps before, but this is different. This is a more broad-based depletion of anything interesting in my brain. It's frustrating.
I guess I need to put more stuff in to get anything out. Normally, I would look forward to a gluttonous diet of art and literature to get me back on track, but right now, I'm just not into it. I finished Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon (really good) last week and I haven't picked up another book since and I don't feel like reading much of anything or devoting thought to much of anything.
It upsets me a little, as I've had an ongoing battle with depression for lots of my life and this seems like a prelude to something. Or maybe I'm just ready for winter to be done.
There's nothing like spring rain to cure a drought.
I have so much to say and no will to say it. I find I cannot summon the words for all I'd like to say about my feelings for the year gone by or my hopes for what's to come. So I won't try. I will simply say that I have thorough satisfaction in what was and high hopes for what will be and I hope that you can say the same - that you can always say the same. Happy New Year.