A barren desert stretches for miles around her. She stumbles along, dragging her feet through the dusty sand. She watches the billows of dust arise from her feet and get caught by the light arid wind, and whisked away.
She makes her weary way, searching the vast, shimmering horizon for some beacon of hope. An oasis in the desert, or perhaps, a journey back to her lush green homeland.
She licks her parched lips and closes her eyes and plays out memories ofthe sweet savoring of the food and drink of her native land. But those memories snap her back to reality and she is recalled to how far she has traveled from where she once was.
She despairs that her path leads her through such lands, but then again, on another level of her being, she is well. She slips down, out of her once lofty lush height, to another sphere of herself where all is numb, blissful happiness, where she frolicks blindly and sleepily. Unaware and selfish, shallow and happy. She skips around in a clumsy dance, switching hands with the others frequenting. A thought will pass through. She wonders whether these also are stuck in this numbing limbo, or if they only venture down a little, sometimes just to see her.
This state of sickening twisting and turning leads her other self deeper into the desert and farther from an oasis, but a quick slip back to the desert, lets the girl grasp her senses and find an oasis and steal a drink from the pool of water she finds there.
Her head is heavy, and spins with the heat and oppression of the desert, but once she has had her thirst quenching sips, she can slip back into sleepy stupor.
In other words, my writing has reached a dry spot. A desert. And this is because I am dwelling in a complacent busy-ness. Something like that. The heat of this dry spot is weighing heavily upon my head, and I can hardly wake up or think enough to eke this out. Actually, I am being lulled to physical sleep by now...the stress is just too much.
Maybe I can find another oasis tomorrow night.
Or everyone might have to get used to short, dull entries for a while. I guess we (being writers I suppose I speak of) all have our dry spots though. Deal with them as you can.