For nearly four years now (!), I've kept up this blog on a near-daily basis. I don't know exactly how. Many was the day--perhaps you could tell--when I truly had nothing to say. And yet I managed to crank out a paragraph or to in order to say it (nothing, that is). A dubious achievement, to be sure, but an achievement, nonetheless. Lately, though, I've slacked off. Very few of my recent endeavors have risen to the level of acceptability--not much I would consider placing in any compilation of the Solipsist's greatest hits.
There are some things going on in my personal life, which are probably taking a toll. Well, definitely taking a toll. I know I'm less-focused on this blog than I might otherwise be. I don't think, though, that this wholly explains my meager output. Honestly, I suspect it has something to do with the weather. I generally scoff at such pharmaceutically-promoted "diseases" as "seasonal affective disorder": Sorry, but if a condition was unknown before a treatment was miraculously invented, said condition doesn't really exist. Still, the Bay Area has been in the grip of something of a cold snap the past few days, and it does wear one down.
To be clear, Northern California temperatures cannot begin to compare to the arctic conditions across the Midwest and Northeast. In a way, though, the relative mildness makes things worse: It's just cold enough outside to be truly uncomfortable, without being cold enough to require massive bundling or supplying such picturesque touches as snow and icicles. The result is a general chill in the air that seeps right into the bones, making one feel vaguely fluish without, knock wood, actually suffering the disease.
My point is: Not conducive to anything resembling creative output. I cling to the hope that this, too, shall pass soon and I'll be back to my normal loquacious self.