I remember talks I used to have with Jack when I was experiencing "writer's block." I would tell him I didn't think I could write unless I was miserable, and at my present state of bliss, I could see no future in writing. Sometimes those memories make me laugh hysterically. Today I'm caught somewhere in between laughter and tears.
Jack would calm me down in his usual cool and collected manner by first asking me if I would like some tea. He would then go on to tell me that it wouldn't always be this way, that I would find more things to write about than love, heartbreak, and my parents' divorce. I'm so happy he was right on that point, but today, I find myself wanting to say to him, "I can't even write because I'm so miserable."
I have turned to pen and paper too many times recently only to give up on what I was writing because I could not get it right. I then turned to reading which has held my attention for a good while. Today, I tried to focus on revising past poems and am feeling the same way as with my writing. I just can't get into that frame of mind again, and I know I have so much that wants to pour itself out.
I read a quote today by Benjamin Franklin that really struck me: " Never confuse motion with action." I feel like I am sleepwalking through my life as of late. I really need some tea.