I only wish it was that dramatic. Then I'd have something interesting to write about. Today I'm slumped on the floor, empty, tired, spent, blah. Nothing left. Nothing there. No motivation. No creativity. Aching muscles. Queasy stomach. Stuffy nose.
Compelled to write, from an I-can't-let-this-writing-practice-die place, not a place of insight, wisdom, substance. Although, who am I kidding, I don't know how often I'm insightful, wise, or have something meaningful to say.
And today's not going to change that.