I spent a couple of tweets earlier today moaning about feeling creatively dry and facetiously asking for someone to write this post for me. Then saying that I would do it myself, that I can do this. Of course I will, of course I can. This is the project. Only I don’t really think I can, today, other than in this “written record of being unable to write” kind of way. I’ve got a thorough soul weariness today. It’s not for any real reason. My life is pretty wonderful right now, and I had an ordinary, pleasant day. But I’m exhausted and my body feels beat and my mind – my mind is sluggish. It feels like cotton wool in here. For the better part of the day, I’ve been hoping that same weariness would result in something interesting to work with; sometimes that happens for me. Today, though, it didn’t. I came home in a literal icy fog, let myself into my warm apartment and had an I’m exhausted [why am I so exhausted?] cry, and then stared at the blank screen. A single sentence about the fog or the kids or adding to the fox story felt like a fake from where I sat, so this is where I landed. I am so tired. I’m going to pack my orders, do the dishes, get ready for a full work day at a school tomorrow, and go to bed. The real, true story of Thursday.
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