muck and mud

I'm in a rut. It's not as though I'm not inspired. Everything around me is screaming color and texture and I'm so stimulated by all the fall colors, the crisp air, the way the clouds over the lake cling to the mountains in whisps...but I seem to be unable to funnel that inspiration into anything constructive. I do a great deal of standing and staring at things, but very little towards putting all that awe into something creative. The rut extends to nearly everything. Getting out of bed is a chore, I bring my camera out with me but never seem to work up the strength to snap any photos. I sit in front of my sketch pad and stare at the blank page, utterly unable to put my pen to paper. It's frustrating because I feel like I have so much in my head to let out, but nothing comes. I can't find the words when I try to journal. I can't work up the enthusiasm to pick up the guitar or crack open the piano. My creative joints are stiff and acheing from disuse. My mind is a muddle of all the things I want to do, thick and clotted with all the ideas and unexpressed thoughts. Even my schoolwork is suffering, my will to catch up on everything I missed last week drained out of me like water from the tub.

I know it's me. I know it's all on me to pull myself out of this. To stop this downwards slide into boredom and claw my way out of the mud. I'm initiating a plan. With phases. I'm not clear on what those phases are, but they will come. I suppose the first one ought to be getting back on a schedule. Stop hitting the snooze button 15 times every morning. Get out of bed and get back on the style shot train. I am almost eager for winter. For the excuse to hole myself up in the house and practice my art, my photography, my music with a huge mug of hot chocolate and something delicious baking in the oven.