My muse left me
For the past period, I have been incapable of doing pretty much anything; I have been unable to work, write, talk or even listen. Most of the time, I do nothing, but sneeze.
Even as I am writing this post, I have no inspiration to write it, I am practically forcing my fingers on the keyboard. I am completely dry and I am worried.
Even through the worst phases of my life, I have always resorted to writing; it's my salvation, my sanctuary, my communication line. I even write letters to my family member when I am incapable of talking (they might be in the room next door, but sometimes talking is just too much).
I love writing and I've always considered it as a career, but since there would be dry spells such as this one, I found it stupid to depend on something as inconsistent. Yet, I have always had this fantasy of becoming a travel writer; writing my ventures in exotic countries in a an enchanting way, a bit removed from reality and yet greatly connected to it.
Yes, my muse has left me and I don't know when she's coming back, but I would like her to come as soon as possible, because it's driving me crazy being so uncreative.