Running on empty.

I don’t really know how I am writing this. I have no idea right now. I have no train of thought that makes any sense. The factory feels like it is dried up. I admire all of those who, put together, create a truly outstanding piece. To me, my idea factory is bankrupt. Nothing, nada, zilch, comes to the frontal parts of my brain.

I’m just damn in wonderment that I have even made it this far. I know many subscribed or are following to see what neat or crazy idea I can come up with. If I had any ideas, it would look like the picture above. No, I find my thoughts are in the eye. The eye of the storm is void of any chaos. To get there, you had to go through a swath of wind, rain and any other debris flying around. Then you come to the calm. No, it doesn’t mean I am at rest. It just means, well, I am idle and there ain’t nothing there.

I think about those I read and praise, and admire their hard work. From this side of the table, you guys make it look all too easy. I know, the one thing you don’t let people see is how laws and sausages are made. I guess looking into someone’s mind, trying to write their next work, would look the same. Mine looks like an empty factory waiting for someone to buy and move in. Then I’ll know what comes next. It’s so bad, AI can’t get anything out of my idea factory.

It’s times like these that it is probably good to just sit, relax and not stress over it. Is this what is known as writer’s block? ‘Cause the block is a dam, and ain’t nothin’ getin’ around this thing. That was fun. Lots have been going on in my so-called life. So that could be part of it. Yet, writing was a good escape from it. Then my escape visa ran out, and my ideas were deported. To where, I don’t know.

I’m picking up books to read, to find the next great idea. Some I never opened until now. Some, I have read many times before and was hoping this long lost friend could help guide me back to the idea fairy. Nothing. And so I sit here, at work {Yeah, I have some time for that}, trying to find something to even outline and put into a story.

I thought maybe it was time. The last thing I remember, it feels like, was that it was spring. Now we are approaching the end of summer, and fall is just around the corner. I don’t mind summer; this year seems more like a disaster movie from the ‘70s. Too hot, too wet, too dry, to something. I don’t think fall will be any better. It will just be really hot one day and bang, cold the next. I looked to see when we jump back an hour. That always makes it feel like fall. November 2. That’s when. Fall starts on September 22. My calendar is so messed up. I woke up thinking it was Friday or even Saturday. It’s Thursday, and I kept waking up to my imaginary alarm. I think 3 times is enough.

So, have I found any ideas yet? I’m checking lost and found. I also found that, when I do write something. (this is my short but quick point [please bear with me] it feels true), I get a like or two. Maybe a comment from one or two, and the well goes dry. At first, it bothered me. Then, over time, I looked back and knew it was just how things are. I’m not good enough. Not putting on the party, but going through my history, I just haven’t been good enough for much of anything. Maybe the dry well is my subconscious telling me to stop trying to write. You ain’t good enough for this place or those here. Stop embarrassing yourself. My inner self is telling me. So, for now, it is what it is.

I see my time is almost up. The other side of my hurricane is coming, and I need to get ready for the chaos ahead. Hopefully by fall, if nothin’ happens or I strike it big, I might get a new idea/story written. Maybe not. It’s why they say don’t hold your breath. Not that you’ll turn blue or pass out. You’ll die of boredom waiting for me. Like I said, I ain’t that good.