Dave Mows Grass on Writer's Block

I get it. Actually, I don't get it. I get writer's window. Writer's block, for me at least, is the normal state; it is my baseline ability to create, or more precisely, to not create. If I have ever written, it is because some stimulus introduced itself to my life opening the window for me to do so. Unfortunately, such stimulation typically has a very short half-life. It's rare that I can write well for more than a few days at at time. That's why I so enjoyed that two-week stretch about a month ago: I was viewing the world through an astigmatism of hope that made everything seem worthwhile. I wrote and wrote! But like always, the stimulus that opened my window slowly closed it as it left, leaving behind a lifeless sky casting such grey pallor on the world, a pallor that penetrates roofs and walls leaving no shadows, leaving no possibility of hue or contrast, that nothing right now seems particularly worth writing about. God I miss Miriam!