Oh, I could describe the beautiful sunrise I saw yesterday morning. I could do something both tender and fierce about the challenges and rewards of motherhood. I could write something both a little funny and woe-is-me about my recent stomach virus or having multiple cats. If I didn't have a still tender stomach, I could rhapsodize about food. I could recommend a few books (Stieg Larsson. That's all I'll say.) I could share my anger about the oil disaster in the Gulf or the multitude of feelings about my two closest friends both moving hours away from here. If I had more than the remnants of a spiritual life, I could write about that. Honestly, it all feels over done. I feel boring. Though I've led a small, ordinary life, I've never been a boring person, and I have no intentions of becoming one.
That leads me to my next question. Is this writer's block or a more significant life blockage? I hate when I already know the answer to a question if I don't like the answer. I operated in crisis mode for a long time, taking care of what was right in front of me because things were both urgent and important. Illnesses, deaths, car wrecks, job losses, what a string of fun. Now, what is right in front of me is every day life. Get up, go to work, come home. Repeat. Boring.
My job is to make my life interesting again, this time without another string of crises. I want some beauty and zest back in my life. That's a real challenge, and I damn well better be up to it.