I have been grappling this week with a silence of the soul; more plainly put, a lack of desire to write (or material to do so).
It's interesting in a way I suppose. This has come up from time to time. It almost the anti-writing period - not so much of a writer's block as a lack of inspiration. Which again strikes me as odd, because one would think that this very period of my life would be chock full of insights and material to write about.
Perhaps in one sense, it's merely a sense of grief. We were notified via e-mail that my former employer is officially defunct. It's very sad - and as at least one person noted, very quick: essentially within a one month period, the company went from fully functioning two trials to everyone either gone or recognizing they were being laid off.
In another sense, perhaps a feeling of futility. I've blogged on this before, but the reality is there is very little I can directly do to secure a job. It takes time and patience. One can search everyday, follow up where possible, hone one's CV and interviewing skills - and then sit until notification occurs. Perhaps in a real way that futility is bleeding over into other parts of my life as well.
In a third sense, perhaps things aren't fully cooked yet. I keep finding things or am giving things to ponder or think about, leaving me with a sense of being the cusp of some big breakthrough, but not there yet.
So I wait. I ponder. And sometimes, I write about why I can't write.