Five months. Five months since I stopped writing. Why did I do that? Take the most therapeutic thing in my life, and put it on the shelf?
There is only one real answer. The Deep Blue Funk. We all have a monster in our lives. Some are big, some are small. Some of us are able to ignore it, others of us cannot. It’s a monster of apathy and disinterest. A vampire, it sucks away your drive. I call mine the Deep Blue Funk. I call him this because he is a product of my deepest emotions, and for a long time, they have been blue.
I’ve allowed the grief that life has offered me to feed the Funk. So I spent my days to pass in silence.
I’ve trudged to work, done my job, gone home, and sat on the couch. I’ve watched TV instead of reading, played video games instead of writing, and spaced out instead of thinking. I’ve put my goals aside, not because I don’t desire them, but because for the last half of a year, I haven’t really wanted anything at all. During this time Deep Blue Funk has gotten enormous, glutting itself on my disinclination to motion.
I’ve killed Deep Blue before. But he keeps coming back. And now he’s on the couch with me. He always knows when I plan on murdering him. He’s at his most persuasive when I’m plotting his demise.
So I try again. I have started working on my novel again. Shortly I’ll hit Publish Post. And hopefully it will kill Deep Blue. Maybe for good this time.
I really hate that guy.