Trapped

I have been pretty regular about this whole blogging thing-a-ma-jig, which has me pretty pleased with myself. I'm not one to pat myself on the back too much^[1] (quite the opposite, really. Anyone who knows me would probably say I'm a little too self-deprecating - then again, that sounds almost like self-praise - wow, this is a hard little circle to escape), so I'm not really praising the content, merely the regularity. It's sort of same way that government employees are promoted: based on time of service, not skill.

Everyday also has had a little something of interest that could be said about this whole experience. That is until a was trapped here at home, waiting for the UPS guy to show up with my new camera. It's really hard for anything interesting to happen when you won't even let yourself out for a cup of joe.

I really find that I'm not terribly stimulated to write if I haven't seen the outside of my apartment. Point of fact, I have already been out and about today and, therefore, able to write. You'd think that the crazy of being inside would compel me to get it out on paper (or on blog, as the case may be), but it does quite the opposite. I feel this need to be constantly entertained, and engaged mentally, but in a way that is not purely creative in my mind.

I think this is one of those mental blocks, however. I think as I distance myself from work more, I'll be able to put out more and more drival on the page as I see fit. Or maybe it's just the way my mind happens to work. Every writer seems to have a different need in order to get themselves into a creative spirit. Some write immediately in the morning, to spill things out as the came in the nighttime. Others need to mull them over for the day, letting the ideas ferment with daylight and oxygen.

Or, perhaps like myself, they need to be fueled by much, too much, caffeine. Makes the fingers limber.


[1] But, apparently, I am one to overuse the phrase "I'm not one to X, but..."