Not Yet Dog Days of Summer

It’s one of those summers.

I have a child with an immobilized arm (“Let’s go to beach A; it’s the best and the gentlest for non-swimmers!” I’ll take, “Yeah, Right, with a Side of an ER Co-Pay for $200,” Alex.). I have a project list that is so long I feel like I might be trying to finish it as a zombie in a few decades. I have a brain that just doesn’t want to think any grand thoughts or put together any ideas in a unique and fun-to-read way.

I miss the summer over two decades ago where I was churning out poems one a week (in my own tiny and neat cursive). That one, the bright and dazzling one… every poem was about deep peace and great light and had the phrase “bright and dazzling” somewhere.

I miss the semester graduate course where we read feminist literature and wrote our responses in journals. To be told by a PhD that your ideas were so fresh and unique and showed her the world in a way she’d never seen is incredibly intoxicating and embarrassing and refreshing.

I don’t know why I’m not having any grand thoughts. Maybe it’s that needed hysterectomy that is looming closer. All those hormone shifts can’t be very good for my brain. Maybe I’m just too booked and need to find some time away from everyone by myself. Maybe I’m just not getting enough art, literature, and music to enrich my environment to jog the neurons loose. Maybe it’s the series of events that can best be summarized by the statement: Different decade, different faces, same places, same bull sh1+.

What are your thoughts? What do you do when nothing seems to materialize and it’s time to write?

Please, please, please — share. Maybe it’ll jostle something into the right places.

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