I do not know how many times I have tried to write, ten, twenty, thirty, and end up deleting everything, pushing away from the computer, and eating something I shouldn't.
Days, weeks perhaps months have gone by where I have been asking myself why I haven't written the things that matter. Not that I am a writer, but someone who has a little blog that floats aimlessly. Not that floating is bad, or aimlessly isn't a direction. In these last several months I have been toying with myself, possibly not really listening, avoiding, maybe even standing still. Sure I have plenty going on, and happy is in that equation, cause I am, nevertheless a writer's block, a wall with many cracks is before me.
Time is needed to write, writing involves reflection, reflection brings up pieces of the heart, mind and soul, and dirt, chaos and a chunk of "what is this"? Time helps sort it out, floating aimlessly is an art of letting go and eventually letting it be.
Maybe it is not a writer's block but more of a stirring pot… where things come up, go back down and the cook keep stirring until it is cooked. I am stirring, and that is about it.
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