There and Back Again

I like writing because it makes me reflective.  This past week, my well ran dry.  The words were dust in my fingers.  I could not mold a thing.  And the slightest puff of air made all my efforts collapse.  Writing every day in September was a good exercise.  I enjoyed all the creative discoveries.  So . . . what happened? I think back on my life, and I see an ebb and flow, like the moon's phases, where energy is sure and strong for awhile.  Photographs, writing, socializing, all of it is sparkly-pleasing.  Then, I hit a wall.  Or fall in a hole.  Or run out of steam.  Regardless, I get quiet and still.  Hibernate awhile.  Let opportunities fizzle.

Because I am tired.  Beyond the physical tired.  Mentally, emotionally, creatively tired.  And the things which were fun, which were a glorious defiance, are not fun anymore.  They feel like work.  It might last a day or a week, or I've had a few bad spells that cover months in dark clouds.  I guess it could be called a mild depression, but it's not that I'm sad.  I'm just . . . quiet.  I don't think there's anything wrong with the cycle.  It's just why I can be a difficult activist, artist, and friend.  I make wonderful plans and then . . . I'm tired.

I so appreciate the people who can understand me.  Thank you for your kindness.  Your patience.

I don't go far.  And I always return :)