It seems that the less I do, the less I wish to do, and the more I do, the more I wish to do. Unfortunately it is very difficult to transition from one to the other. Thoughts, fleeting and airy seem too frail or too flimsy to capture and put on paper, and the captured thoughts of others almost too profound to read.
Perhaps it is melancholy. Perhaps I am melodramatic. Perhaps I have not been near enough cats.
There may be many reasons for the past weeks of listlessness, but one cannot escape the dreary without a push in the right direction. I hope it does not have to be a large, push, just a big enough one to convince me to begin the journey once again. I know it will get easier as it becomes a habit, as having written once, I will wish to write again.