I cannot list the times I have had an idea, or a desire to write something, and when it came to the point of actually writing, nothing. Flat line. I stare at a white screen and simply cannot engage mind or body to do anything. Even getting to this point, where I am finally writing something, anything, down was frustratingly draining.
The thoughts that do go through my mind are more often self-deprecating, if there are any thoughts I can pin down, that is. It’s so much like a plane picking up speed down the runway and getting ready to take flight, only to forget that the wings weren’t put on. All the energy and drive without any lift. Nothing gets off the ground. The plane just drifts off into the bushes and disappears, unrealised.
I want to talk about loneliness, ideas around motivation, thoughts on controversial conspiracies, and write stories, prose, and poetry. Something I used to do so much as a younger human and with more ease, now feels difficult due the amount of effort I seem to need just to get moving. Stalling here and there like a learner driver bunny hopping on the clutch until the car stalls completely.
Talking is easy, and I can wax lyrical on so many topics, and many I should probably avoid if truth be told, but only when I am in the company of another. I bounce better than I serve. Someone asks my opinion had better be prepared for what I hope is a respectful and thought-out discussion. When it is me alone, I go near mute with indecision, a head full of noise.