This is one of THOSE days.
It started at 12:00 AM when I found myself still lying awake in bed, unable to calm the tumultuous thoughts warring for attention inside my brain, and shooting through my body to create aches from hair to toenail.
Of course, none of the thoughts seemed worth writing about.
A late night shower, and I finally fall asleep. But morning comes too swiftly for me to feel any rest.
First comes the daughter apologizing for her inability to force the baby tooth out of her mouth that the dentist insisted was supposed to be out by yesterday.
Then comes the missing library book, that has evaporated into thin air or been sucked into the vortex of lost things that this tiny house somehow encapsulates. That leads to a crying fest of self-blame, “I should have found it this weekend, I should have . . . I could have . . . ” Whining and crying, but no actual helping or moves to get dressed.
I want to hide under the covers and scream or cry. I want to be able to pour words onto a page in a brilliant purging of emotion and sound that becomes my best writing yet.
But I have nothing.
So I sit down to write, hoping to find the zen of words that I mentioned a few days ago. I stare at the screen, looking for inspiration. I look at the Daily Digest from the Post a Day 2011 Challenge, hoping for a spark. I read a list of inspirational quotes.
I click around my computer aimlessly, wondering where motivation comes from. Wondering where my favorite authors get their ideas. Wondering if they ever have nothing to say.
I know I have to write now. It’s not that I have a looming deadline or anything. I’ve just fallen into a pattern of the day, and if I don’t write now I will be hard on myself for the rest of the day. I’m already being hard enough.
I’m supposed to do an interview for the newspaper in a little over an hour. Someone suggested they write about me as interesting profile in the community. How can I be interesting if I have absolutely nothing to say or cannot write a single word? I have to write something!
So, I sit down and write this.
It is something, I guess.
And yet I still feel empty. Wordless. Silent.
Some days writing is really, really hard.
What do you do?