It's that feeling of going back to work after Christmas. Fed up of staying at home, eating and drinking the wrong things. And fed up of being back at work with all the shit that entails. I'm sure fresh air and exercise would be the answer, and I'm trying, honest. The Tweenage Tearaways are back at school today and everyone is back on the treadmill. Not that I've been off it really, with a Saudi client who wanted a project to a Jan 4th deadline, irrespective of a faraway religious festival in which he has no interest.
During the season of goodwill and bad feeling, I have written nothing. My blood is sludgy in my veins and the likelihood of achieving creative flow, or indeed any other kind, seems scant. I haven't exactly kick-started the year, but then I rarely do. Perhaps a gentler beginning will do no harm in the end.
I won't feel normal until after the weekend, don't think. The regular timetable will be fully resumed and I will have been on my first trip to London. I will breathe easier after that.
And I have signed up for a poetry workshop later this month, and been asked to take part in another reading. I would like to develop a collection this year - if I can regain sufficient sparkle to write. I know what makes me feel confident and powerful and capable of anything.
And I know how I feel when it's missing.
You are of course powerful and capable of anything. And the thing that makes you feel confident etc is available whenever you want it. You just have to ask. But you know that.
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