Writing is a habit and an addiction. Yet it's hard to get started. You almost have to force yourself to do it each day till it becomes some sort of daily ritual. But then when you're forced to stop, it feels wrong. Because I worked so hard to make a habit and now I can't do it. But it wasn't my fault. Which seemed bad, being forced to stop. But now that it's my own fault that I can't restart, that seems even worse.
I can't get back into the habit. It's hard again. And that sucks. Sure I went through ups and downs before. But this feels different. Every time I try to start again, I fall asleep or stress about other things not done or on my mind. A move, let alone buying a house, is a big change. So all my focus was on that. On physical things and not so much mental and imaginative. Though I have learned how to lay bricks, caulk a counter top, and electrocute myself.
Then in an ironic twist, it all became mental. I had Jury Duty and an MRI. Both of which were nerve wracking and intense. The MRI itself was mind blowing how simple and yet utterly difficult it was. Literally, all I had to do was lay there for 20 minutes. That's it. Lay on a table. Hell, I lay in bed doing absolutely nothing but day dreaming for a lot longer than 20 minutes. The funny thing is that the doctors and techs ask you if you are claustrophobic or need to be sedated. And if not, you go in totally awake. So of course, I was in there thinking of what a claustrophobic person would do and pictured myself freaking out. Want to stay calm while your head is trapped in something, don't picture people having mental breakdowns.
Then between googling what a Chiari Malformation is (what I apparently have) and my site crashing, I just haven't found the inspiration. Maybe non-fiction is the space to start, at least with this I don't feel the need for brilliant imagination. And I can talk about my new obsession with the cerebellar tonsils.