Wednesday, June 17, 2009

The Un-Post

Yeah, so you're not supposed to post about how you can't think of anything to post about but... the only thought of any interest to me is my lack of creativity. So that happened.

Sometimes you just need to put your nose to the grindstone and settle in for a good long push. Every day of work, every night of extended bedtime battles with the Short People, every feeble attempt at cleaning up the house, has left me with no extra computing cycles to ponder over interesting tidbits.

In a way it's kind of nice. Blogging was something interesting to explore, then it became a skill to hone, and finally a source of community in an otherwise pretty minuscule social circle. But (and women never seem to believe this) guys have the ability to think about nothing at all. After a work day that carries me nearly ten miles through all the corridors of a hospital and all the rest, I'm just in neutral and that's quite all right.

At the end of my day, the last hour or two that used to be a joyride through the blogging community and a chance to sharpen my wits at the keyboard is now just an hour or two of floating. But it's a fairly pleasant sort of floating. As with everything, this too shall pass.

Somehow without noticing it work will subside, the kids will start behaving, we'll get a handle on the housework. And one evening, I'll get a little spark and run to my computer to see what it turns into.

Or not. But I get the feeling that all the people I've met through this process will be like the handful of IRL friends that I have. We see each other a lot and then we don't. But when we meet it's as if no time has passed and we pick up where we left off.

This isn't a parting letter. Don't send your condolences or anything. I'm just out of words after three hundred posts in a year and a half and felt like writing about it. I at least owe the ChurchPunkMoms and the IrishGumbos a word of explanation about my relative silence. There's no crisis. I'm still here, still reading, just too pooped to crank out the nightly posts.

Ah well, it felt good to type. But there's laundry, and dishes, and likely a Shorty or two up out of bed and in need of a re-re-re-re-re-re-tucking in. So I'm dropin' 'er back in neutral and heading back in the house. G'nite.



Irish Gumbo said...

We all have to breathe sometime, my friend. I had afeeling you were there, just needed to disengage a bit...a that's quite alright.

And thank you for the shout out. Peace,

Jim Styro said...

I feel you dawg. On days where I feel inspired, the writing is a pleasure. And when I'm not, it's teeth-pulling time. Go with the flow, Mister.