Running out of words
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I go through cycles of being completely prolific
writing, just full of words and thoughts and
feelings that spill out of me, but then there's
times where I can really only listen and read
and writing or even talking gets hard. It's like
I can be in the mode for receiving or
transmitting but not both at once.

It's a strange feeling, really, when I often
think of myself As A Writer. I mean in a lot of
ways I'm prolific even if a good chunk of what I
write I squirrel away foolishly. I fill
hundreds of, sometimes a thousand, pages a year
with my thoughts and that's just what I hand
write not to mention everything else I write in
various online spaces.

But then there's times like the past week where
I'm just *quiet*. I'm deeply quiet, listening,
reading, stewing. I feel a cold like winter,
withdrawn into a kind of protective state.