If at the beginning of December my mind was a flat slab of dirt and pretty much devoid of anything else, today that flat slab has been worn into a trench ringed around a massive pile of thoughts. Hello, my name is Sarah, and I am an mental pacer.
I can't say what particularly I've been encircling. I suppose I could pick each thought off the pile and study it and name it; but mostly it's all blurred into one mountain rather than individual pieces. There are the starts of thoughts and the ends of thoughts and thoughts that repeat in some annoying pattern, though each recurring version looking a bit more tattered since it has been mulled over again and again.
This is a certain kind of block--writerly, yes, and also, just a human kind. I'm sure there's work to be done on the mountain, and I'm sure there isn't. So while I'm terribly annoyed that the pacing hasn't been productive, I figure, at least it's exercise.
January has been busy and terribly lazy. It's been full of good news and frustration. There are nine days left and I'm tired, but my heart is full. Next year, just remind me that this is how I feel every January.