It doesn’t really worry me since in the end, I think it doesn’t matter. It’s just that I’m having a hard time going back to revise and edit at least two of my recent pieces or even open up the files. It seems like I just don’t want to even look at them again. I open Word and go instead to a folder of a friend and work on editing some pieces there. There is no emotional involvement here. It’s easier.
Maybe it is because I’ve been away from the format for a month or so, devouring novels and philosophy instead. Maybe it’s because I’m feeling helpless or even hopeless or a new confidence in new yet unknown directions makes this need to turn my back on things that drain me of feelings extend to writing too.
Strange, to watch from somewhere else inside me, the closing of an era.