I don’t know why it happens. But it does.
I occasionally reach a point in my writing journey where I don’t have anything to say.
I’m there. Right now.
I can’t write another post about how busy my life is. Because it doesn’t seem to be making it any less busy.
I can’t write another post about my teenager. He’s getting sick of being the focus and runs when he sees the camera.
I can’t write another post about my tweenager either. Because it might make her cry. Or laugh. Or both – crazy hormones.
I can’t write another post about my RedDog because we’re going through a rough spot right now and he needs my actual attention, not my virtual attention.
I can’t write another post about my baby. Because today he has the runs. And the runs + a potty training child = fifteen pairs of underwear in a day.
I can’t write another post about my Hubby because we are ships passing in the night. Unless you like posts that read: “I passed a ship last night.”
I can’t write another post about me either. Because I’m getting a little sick of me. Aren’t you?
So I’m going to take a break. And I’m going to work on Halloween costumes. And baking goodies for people. And cleaning out a few closets. And raking leaves. And roasting some marshmallows. And working on being more kind and attentive to my children and husband.
I don’t know when I’ll be back. I just know I have nothing to say right now and I feel perfectly happy about it.