Nothing to Say, But in the Silence...

I made a commitment to write every day.  Honing and maintaining my skills is important to me.  It is my personal goal.

This morning while the house is (semi) quiet -- before the TV goes on blaring the morning news, I allow for the stream of consciousness. I decide to  record my thoughts that have filled my brain from the moment I opened my eyes.  They are filled with remembered dreams,  jumbled and still filled with confusion. I struggle to bring order and cohesiveness to random words and images.  A small dog...a tall pine tree...a bed that has three elevating sections.  What is the meaning of snow covered fields and why are they next door to my house?  Why did the divorced lady have a home on the edge of a lake and why was I inside looking at each room with such interest?  Why was she flirting with my husband? There is an old rusty car parked in front.  Before I can evaluate, the images are gone.  They are receding from my consciousness.  I struggle to keep them -- to hold them for just a moment so I can record them. Each moment robs me of another snippet of a dream, a fleeting image, an impression lost.  I have nothing...nothing to write...nothing to say.

I abandon my project to pour myself a cup of coffee.  I look outside and watch a squirrel performing acrobatic feats on our bird feeder. I laugh at his hijinks.  His determination to reach the seeds is matched with the gymnastic prowess that allows him to hang by one arm and swing back and forth upside down until he reaches the platform.

I walk around the kitchen considering what I will make for breakfast.  I am aware of what I am doing.  I am procrastinating.  I just don't have the same determination to write as the squirrel did to reach the bird feeder.

Finally I force myself to do what I do not want to do.  It is a job...work...difficult.  I do not feel the passion, the determination I had a few days ago.  Words come to me -- just words.  I explore combinations and am dissatisfied. I rework my sentences over and over.  It is forced, boring, futile.

I accept defeat.  I admit to myself that this morning I have nothing to say.  Perhaps I will read a book, take a walk, have a long conversation with a friend.  Perhaps my inspiration will come from other things.  For now, I will go back to the window and watch the hungry squirrel.