I spent some time visiting some of my writer friends tonight. I read their posts with interest, but I didn’t leave any comments. I’m not entirely sure why, but I think I feel that I don’t really have the right. It sounds stupid…because it is stupid. I know that. But that’s the way I feel.
After my “visits”, I sat back and pondered how I felt. The only word that fits is “sad”. I feel sad that I’m moving away from these people. They are people I’ve known for some time now and they are people I’ve shared much of myself with. I feel sad that I don’t feel the need to write anymore. I also feel sad because I don’t even feel like reading anymore. What’s going on with me, I wonder?
Last week, I spend a bit of time one afternoon working on my non-fiction manuscript. I only wrote a couple of pages and I was quite focused at the time, but as soon as I turned away from it, the urge to do more left me completely. It doesn’t feel important to continue with it any longer. Just like my other projects no longer mean much to me. Even the family tree is sitting untouched.
I think it’s important not to let my analytic mind get too worked up over all this. I’m going to let things go and allow myself to do whatever I feel like doing (which, admittedly, isn’t much right now). All I can really say is that apart from the sadness, my mind is peaceful and that’s something I think I really needed.