Maybe you’re going through a dry spell.
Except for these annoying, semi-interesting chord progressions that ooze out of you, seemingly (deceivingly) with promise.
So you write some lines. You force some rhymes. (There, like that.)
And you go to bed and come back to it another day and you realize.
And you wonder when the passion left you. Or why. Because life is fuller in many ways.
A real lover, not a fictionalized crush. Work dilemmas, a hodge-podge of part-time and freelance to make ends meet. A home you’ve actually started to care for and improve, not just maintain.
Oh wait, there’s lots of newer songs you’re performing now that cut it. That measure up.
Yes, that’s true, but nothing new is coming.
Time to dig deeper, make some assignments.
Note to self: If it all came easy, everybody would be doing it.
Note to the reader: This mood is more complex than you know. So, with apologies for the self-indulgent rant, I ask you, have you ever been in this space, this place in your heart and head that is like the frozen tundra, the barren wilderness? And what did you do to get out?