I feel constipated. I know, I am not supposed to talk openly about such things in polite company (whatever the fuck “polite company” is). But the truth is that I am backed-up and the pressure and discomfort have been building for a while. Actually, it feels like the pressure is exacerbating the issue now: like three stooges all trying to get out one door at the same time – and the press to get out has become the blockage.
I’ve done a lot of reading in the meantime. A LOT. A shit-ton of reading, frankly. And now there are so many ideas in there, clambering to get out onto the page, I’m not sure where to start. (Yes. Ideas. What did you think I… …gross.)
Conceptual impaction is what I seem to be approaching. And the thought of being disimpacted by some poor soul seems… unappealing… for all involved. Perhaps it would help to just relax a bit, stop pushing, and things will flow more naturally. But deadlines loom. So I’m going to try squeaking out some little essays, like this one, and hope that gets other things moving.
Pardon me while I try to rectify my situation.