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hi you,

I'm the tourist on the metro, lover of markets and dresses, a writer in the local coffee shop, and the friend who is always up for a picnic and conversation. 
Welcome to L. Raine

The Writer's Block

I haven't written all summer, because somehow I couldn't. At first it seemed like writers block, but after awhile calling it writers block seemed like a mild term for something that was affecting my life all over. I tried to overcome it, but looking back everything seems more like a blur than an actual obstacle anyway. Obstacles can be gotten through, but a head that has laid down by the roadway limply refusing to fight a way through fog, well that is another matter entirely. One can know how to overcome obstacles, without knowing what to do when the desire to fight leaves. 

This isn't me

 I think 'me' makes sense most of the time, but not this. It's not for me to dread days and weeks and wish to go to sleep and forget life. To wake up another morning and wonder how to get through this day other than crawling on hands and knees. I'm not used to surrendering to yet another headache and having to sleep in the middle of the day with 2+ cups of coffee simply to stay awake. In short, it's been 4 months since merely pushing one breath out to take in another, with little breaks in between when the weather and languidness broke into cool freshness for a bit.

It is me

 This isn't the first time, but why not bury it like the last time? Why not chalk it up to a bad season that will pass? I've been doing that to problems all my life anyway. It'll go away if I just curl up, hush mouth and stay away from people. I don't mean physically, but distance from the real life things that matter. My hard time isn't worth someone else's time. Yeah, this feels familiar, because Lord knows I'm pretty good at stuffing it so no one else knows. I don't live with anyone who sees the low times, and I could successfully keep going for infinity this way. Is it worth it? Nope.

I’m just a silly girl with a pen, an apartment, a rattly old car, and a tired heart and body.

There it is, the honest confession of a writer with major mental block.

 

Authors note: For anyone who is interested, "it" followed the symptoms of low thyroid and adrenal fatigue; I also had a severe case of sinusitis from the spring that hasn't healed yet. The other symptoms have been treated successfully for about a month now, and slowly the writers block is going away, and the zest of life is coming back, and by elimination of dairy and sugar most of the time the sinusitis is improving too. Why does it always take so long to discover these things? You'd think a few months of crawling at a turtle speed would've spurred me to do something sooner, but that fog.. honestly.

 

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