Was once.

On not being all there.

Lately I have been in a state of anger at my own brain. I lie to it and say I’m not mad, just disappointed, but unfortunately, it knows all my tricks. Coming up with anything—writing, plans, whatever—is like trying to get the very last blob out of a very wrung-out tube of toothpaste. Is it even there? I am not sure but I keep flattening it out, with a steamroller if necessary.

What’s annoying about all this is that I know “what’s wrong.” What’s wrong is that I’ve been living a pretty small life for a year and a half, and it’s only getting bigger slowly. I agree with this newsletter about writer’s block being an input problem, not an output problem. When I’m reading regularly, taking long walks, doing non-work writing, seeing other people once a week or so, and cooking, the toothpaste tube gets full again. When I’m sitting in front of the computer looking at a blank document that says “ideas,” it does not.

But the other issue is that if you are in a hole of some kind, it will (probably) …