My well runneth dry, it seems. My inkwell, that is. Oh I am so witty, it fucking huurrrts.
I've been in a struggle this week with the blog. Fresh back from camping, posting photos was simple, la-dee-dah. I realize now my favorite part of the trip: Lying on my back in the sand, staring at the sky, watching the clouds slide slowly by. Few relaxation methods rival this activity.
With the death of my friend's father (incidentally, my friend was on the camping trip as well), I feel pulled into the doldrums, a familiar place we've visited too frequently the last few years, as special folks around us pass away. It bothers me that, again, someone so young should have to experience the loss of a parent.
And maybe that's part of the reason I've been feeling soooo tired this week, but maybe not. I can't seem to sleep through the night, no matter how crazy tired I feel. I tried to take a nap this week and felt like voices in my head were screaming at each other. Songs play on repeat, to-do lists write themselves in my mind, decorating schemes for my house go by on a slideshow.
Maybe it's the summertime blues. I'm noticing lots of my favorite bloggers are drying up on material. Several who normally post every day haven't posted in a week or two. Maybe we're too busy staring out the window and wishing we were out there instead of confined in our offices and homes. I think this must be it. I'm reaching my maximum limit on time spent at work without a true vacation. It's been a year and a half. We're taking one next month. Two weeks of scenery and overindulgence, but most importantly two weeks away from home and work, where no one and nothing can remind us of our to-do lists and we can focus on more important things.