...mentally stuck in the muck?

I'm thinking about writer's block. As in, I have not written much in a while, except these daily missives. I have two poetry books I want/need to be reading and annotating, with reviews to write. I have looked at and rejected several possible journals to send work to-- it feels like too much effort, or they are asking for the kinds of poems I don't have in my "to send out" file. And I don't have any impulse to write new ones at the moment-- I have a few early muddy drafts, but nothing much at all that is compelling me to the page. 

Maybe it's because my brain is tired, or busy with school-related stuff, or just stuck. It's not an unusual feeling, but it's troubling, nonetheless. I have things I want to accomplish! Don't I?

What I need is an unbroken stretch of time to just sit and read, think, and then, maybe write. I have not carved that out for myself in a long time. Maybe it's the winter doldrums. Maybe it's because we've had a fraught time of it, with family things. I feel a need to physically and mentally stretch. You know, like after a long night's sleep-- which is another thing I don't seem to get a lot of. I'm itchy, antsy, but stuck. I'd call it "cabin fever" but it seems like winter never really got rolling, either. It threatened to, but it has not (yet) graced us with its presence. And I don't mind that, but maybe it's a fitting metaphor for the feeling I have right now, mentally and emotionally. Get on with it, already.

Or don't. But this uneasy sense of preparation-in-stasis is not a good feeling. 

I think I have to make a date with myself, just myself, for a day or two. I'll write it down in my desk planner, and keep it. I'm pretty good with deadlines, even if they are merely external motivators. 

That said, this, too, shall pass. I hope. 

Have a good day, and I hope your muse is not off on vacation, too.

C