And so the mystery continues…

Heyo! I’m hitting a bit of a writer’s block, it would seem. Mostly because I spent most of the last month completely overwhelmed with what I’ve got going on (all my own doing, but still—it’s a lot) and when I get overwhelmed, I have a tendency to react like this:

rabbits-play-deadIt’s not the most super-productive strategy, I’ll admit. The best part is when I decide to roll over and get back to accomplishing [any]things, the stuff that inspired me to play possum in the first place has become bigger and more pressing. Awesome.

So, I’ve got a whole bunch of drafts started that I haven’t finished and I’ve been looking for a handful of poems I wrote in my first year of the creative writing program. I had been looking for them for ages, wondering if they were any good, since a great way to find out if your poetry is half-decent is to read it five-to-ten years later. If it doesn’t make you want to barf and then hide under a rock, you’re doing alright.

I found them, maybe sometime in the last twelve months. I remember being stoked to find them. Unfortunately, I do not remember where I was at the time. I feel like I’ve searched the condo, which leaves the storage unit downstairs. Ugh. The problem with the storage locker is that it is a) very creepy down there, and b) very, very full.

Me not finding the poems (and to be honest, not really looking for them physically—it’s been more a thing I think about from time to time, which is clearly not all that effective) has been a pretty handy excuse for not posting. Weirdly, though, it hasn’t helped with my writer’s block.

On that note, I’m going to sign off, because it’s beautiful outside and I want to enjoy the sunshine. I’ve been off this past week and the sorrow of having to return to work is starting to set in. I’m going to go play outside. You should, too.