The last year has eaten my ability to write poetry or fiction, or to maintain any but the most cursory of contacts with people who don't initiate emails or chat. It has screwed with my sleep patterns and filled me with grief and apprehension and semi-regular despair. It has seen reading turn from an exercise of fun into something frequently laborious, and my desire to go interact with people drop to all-time-lows.

This sounds, basically, like what it is for me to write a book. I...don't know if that helps? But. It's not whining.

Push push push. <3