Writer's block, or, The downside of winter (and lupus)

I'm writing this mostly because I need to write something today. I'm dealing with... well, it's closer to writer's exhaustion than writer's block. I've got plenty of ideas, including some damned good ones, but I'm unable to sit down and execute them right now. It's due to a combination of factors, including day job overwork, either lupus or FMS flaring (signs point toward both or the latter), and seasonal depression. The seasonal depression is compounded by the knowledge that it's probably going to be a permanent thing; sunlight does bad, bad things to me, and I really need to avoid all common types of light more than I currently do. Vampires are only cool and creepy night dwellers until you learn first-hand what it really means to live in the dark. (Yes, this means I'll probably write a vampire novel one of these days. Don't worry; I do anger better than angst.)

I'm actually not feeling sorry for myself, believe it or not. I'm just frustrated and angry and in dire need of some overtly creative activity. As I've said, writing is out because I'm too tired to concentrate, and I really pour my energy into it. Sewing is out because I don't have all the tools I need. I'll probably sit down with some knitting in a few minutes. Or, because I think I can do it, I might write a brief synopsis for a holiday comedy I want to write. That, at least, would be something.

Right. Going to write that synopsis, and then I'm going to eat something other than a banana. It may be another banana, but it'll be food. I have to remind myself sometimes that writing is just one work after another. If I can write one word, I can write another. That helps a lot.