I am misanthropic as fuck. After Christmas, where I spent a long amount of time with a lot of people I loved, I needed distance. I came home and had good friends visiting, whom I could only bear to hang out with a few minutes at a time because I was exhausted by people. Then I have a class where I’m managing written comments by 19 individuals every single day. And that was before my sister and niece came to stay.
Yesterday, when Cougar called, I couldn’t even dish about my sister and niece like I normally would. I lacked the ability to describe my life. I guess, then, it isn’t surprising that I am not writing. I am not revising. I am not even opening my manuscript, reading it, gnashing my teeth, and closing it again in a fit of rage.
It’s gone. I have nothing. I’ve been reading a little, and my class ends on Friday. Maybe then I will have something to say? What do you do to get that shit back?