I've been trying to figure out why lately I just don't feel that spark in my keyboard that I usually feel when I write.
Is it that I haven't read any books to blog about? No, I'm actually reading tonnes these days.
Is it that I'm tired? Dude, I'm always tired. It rarely slows me down.
Is it that life is busy, blah blah blah? That may have been the reason up until last week, but things are pretty smooth this week, so strike that one.
No, I think the problem is that I'm (temporarily, I hope) sick of my own words. Has this ever happened to you? You've spent all night chatting it up at a party, or all day presenting a workshop or lecturing to a group of people, and you get home and realize you're sick to death of the sound of your own voice? And worse, when you replay your mental tapes, you become increasingly convinced that everyone else must be sick of it, too. And then, in order to overcome the crippling delayed embarrassment that this realization has triggered, you resolve to change your ways and become... well, still yourself, but the best, quietest, most subdued version of yourself.
Do any of you know this phenomenon of which I speak? I'm not the only one, am I? (This is where you smile kindly and sympathetically and pretend to commiserate.)
While I'm sadly accustomed to experiencing word-shame due to my, er, verbal loquaciousness, this is the first time I've felt this way because of my writing. Between all the reports and presentation notes and other work-related writing AND the blogging, I just wish I'd shut up already.
And by now you're wishing the same thing.
This whingefest -- and not-so-thinly veiled cry for help -- has been brought to you by the letter Y and the number 0. And now back to your regularly scheduled internet.