This week has been a real struggle, writing-wise. The creativity just does not seem to be there.
This happens sometimes, I suppose. I just really cannot remember a time when I felt this completely empty for writing.
It probably reflects a larger blandness in my life. Unfortunately, I seem to have hit a rut in my life that I cannot get out of.
My life has become bounded by 12 miles in any one direction. By an emptiness of people rather than a crowd. By a sense of futility in almost everything that I do rather than a sense of purpose - even my hobbies that brought me so much joy feel like chores.
There is an emptiness, a senselessness to everything that leaves me dry and brittle inside, on the one hand not feeling and on the other hand not caring. I wish I knew what the cure was to this: is it a rut? If so, is there something that I can do to break out of it? Or am I simply going through a phase for which there is no resolution but to quietly continue on, seemingly without relief?
I certainly do not like this sensation - but ever within my not liking it, I can find nothing to do but simply endure it. And hope for better days.