I run out of stamina while writing. A trajectory of inspiration can carry me through one day, two, at best a few weeks. I put down the screenplay I was working on prior to my trip to Israel and Jordan, and its been tough trying to pick it up again. I'm resolved to start with another overall plot structure and outline and then dive into the nitty gritty of dialogue and action. I think I really like what I am writing, but again, its the disciplined butt-to-the-chair-and-fingers-to-the-keyboard dedication that evades me.
I have been having a lot of bad dreams lately, whether during nap or nighttime sleep. I stop and wonder what we are all waiting for, and whether this is it. I say a lot of "Baruch Hashems" but I don't feel a presence on the end of that pulled thread. I long for more green in my life, but I'm a terrible gardener. I see babies and I want one of my own; leaving my dog on workday mornings breaks my heart into a million, shattered pieces. I take my medicine but I procrastinate inciting rebellion. I'd like to lead and conquer and destroy and mourn and love, but I find myself here, blogging.
