Another evening packed full of cats. Liz and Jamie have gone to bed, I'm sat up watching the kittens prowl, watching them squeeze themselves into shelves on the bookcase, watching them sit in the sink.
A day out exploring London and taking photographs with my uncle today. The light wasn't great but we had a wonderful time, wandering, snapping, chatting.
I've been feeling pretty uninspired with my writing recently, like I've simply got nothing to say, and no idea how to say anything even if I did. But this trip has been a nice refilling of the well, seeing family, walking, being taken outside myself. When I get home I want to get more serious about writing again, not do it last thing at night, tired and distracted, but put what time I have into working hard at it.
I need to find what makes me enthusiastic and curious and impassioned again, because the last few weeks I've struggled to care about anything. I've been going through the motions, without anything burning inside. My skin has been worse, as it always is in winter, and I think one of my eyes is getting infected again, and my self confidence has been low. I've felt ugly and slimy and yucky, I've wanted to wear dull baggy clothes and slink into the shadows.
So I guess that's a clue what to work on, where to start looking for what to get curious about. All our problems are simply avenues we've not fully explored yet - suffering always holds a lesson.
So I'm not going to feel bad that I've been feeling like this. I'm going to bring the light of awareness to it and shine it into those murky corners. I'm going to write more, work harder, not accept this state of affairs. 167 days blogging is amazing. Simply having turned up all those times is a victory in itself.
Stay the course. Keep going. Redouble efforts. It will get better again.
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