My muse?

Where is my muse? For a long time, it was unrequited loves, former lovers, and just life. The words used to come so easy to me that I could bang out a post in 30 minutes. Thoughts of passion and ambition would fill my thoughts and appear on the computer screen.

My creativity seems to have choked to death on the anti-depression/anxiety pills and the charcoal taste of burnout.

Even my dog, who I love more than most humans, doesn’t inspire me to write much. She just wants treats and for me to play with her light pointer.

I long for the days when a phrase or lyric would jolt my brain. Now time is spent trying to write as much content to make my boss happy.

I think my muse is connection. It has been missing in action for some time.

I miss connection which I don’t get chained to my laptop. The connection is not on the balcony of my overpriced apartment.

Where are the ones to commiserate with?

It isn’t under the hair curlers I try to use to make myself feel pretty.

It isn’t in people (I.E. former colleagues, college friends, etc) I thought were friends who disappeared and stopped talking to me.

My therapist, with who I often want to break up, is encouraging me to write.

Write what?

What is going on that is so immense and earth-shattering? No one wants to hear about my tales of sweating to jazzercise and mundane tales about my dog Sundae. I can’t complain about work, marriage, sex or family.

When I write personal things, I’m scolded or told I shouldn’t reveal so much. I used to write with such ease and didn’t give a damn about what people thought.

I think even my husband of 13 years is bored of me. I think I’m bored with myself too.

My nights are walking Sundae, making dinner, cleaning and listening to podcasts and working out.

That is it.

I don’t feel fufilled nor do I feel people even care. I keep having a recurring dream of being back in college and dealing with a final project again. In some dreams I’m graduating and in some I missed the deadline.

I don’t know what that means but I don’t want to miss the deadline.

What would make me happy?

I’m not sure.