And I keep waiting, waiting on the world.
I seem to be having one of the rough days. The kind where it seems like everything is in slow motion, just waiting on that first spark that catches.
Do you know, when you're reading a book and at some point a week goes by in steady time for the main character and the author just summarizes it in a few paragraphs?
I feel as though this year and maybe even last year, could be summarized in a few paragraphs and just slipped into the middle of the book. It's the kind of thing a reader guiltily skims through, not really worried about the down time, but not appreciating that the main character had to go through all of that. Every minute of it, experience it all...and you just skimmed a couple paragraphs and it was over.
I'm not trying to make you feel bad (well, maybe a little) but you have to admit, the analogy brings a certain poignancy to the boredom that is right now for me.
On the upside, I might be getting some time off from work in the next couple months where I could possibly devote a large amount of time to writing.
I have been feeling mentally constipated (I apologize for the crudity, but that is truly the best metaphor) lately and really need to get it all out on paper. I figure, time off and no money will prove a very good laxative.
Now I really feel bad about that metaphor. Seriously, I am sorry. This sort of thing will only get worse until I find time to really write.