I dunno what it is.

Maybe it’s just being sick, still, with something I can’t shake (or with a series of things which I can’t fight off ’cause the other thing lowered my resistance). Maybe it’s that everyone’s sick; i talked to friends yesterday from Philly and San Jose, both of whom came down with horrid ailments that sounds exactly alike the same day. People around work of coughing, people around school are doing the same.

Or maybe it’s the fucking weather. God. I’m not used to this. But it looks like the sun is creeping out now, so maybe, maybe, we’re tail-ending this deluge.

Maybe it’s about work; I’m so fucking far behind now that I feel like I’m ahead, the other rats about to lap me on the track. I’m behind in a way that feels like I’ll never catch up, yet not sick enough that I can use the excuse anymore.

Maybe it’s the mounting stack of things to do, taxes, bills, the entropy of a household this time of year when all the things put off can no longer be put off.

Or maybe it’s simply the pain and yearning that comes with spring’s approach, my body knowing the season even though my mind says otherwise. I feel the sap flowing in the trees and the flowers trying to bloom and my body feels a pull somewhere, somehow.

Whatever it is, I can’t fucking write. I keep trying. I was up last night with a bout of insomnia and trying to blog; nothing. Fucking nothing.

I need to talk about stuff, and I just find I can’t, like my fingers stiffen and my mind whirls and the power of speech is gone. And it leaves me with the usual mute frustration, the raw, disconnected feeling, the vague anger with no good outlet. Teeth grinding, head hurting. Pressure.

You know. The usual.