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Where is my mind?

Yee haw!Something's up. I'm not sure what it is, yet, but I have the distinct impression that my brain is in the process of being rewired by an as-yet-unknown force that has left me with little will and even less impetus to blog. It may have a little (ok, a lot) to do with my exams and dissertation which keep peeking their heads around the corners of my mind and often descend upon me late at night, shaking me awake from my normally sound slumber with whispers about a future that is both exciting and terrifying. It may also have something to do with the fact that GWB is almost certainly going to win the election - thus proving, once again, that Americans ingest jingoist propaganda with the same voraciousness that they eat Big Macs. Or, it may have something to do with my temporary change in venue and the extreme contentedness I'm feeling (thanks, A), which has left me wondering if my will to write is inversely related to my happiness - a scary proposition that I refuse to contemplate when in my right mind. (The tortured artist thing is so played out.)

Those are all excuses, however, which mask a much larger question - if I love writing so damn much, why is it so hard to do? Why do I struggle with the structure and cadence of each sentence as though each might be my last, as if someone at my funeral might actually say, "Well, she was a good writer some of the time, but did you see the split infinitive and comma splice in her last blog posting?" And then, of course, the over-analytical, slightly OC part of me kicks in and wonders if all of these questions are a veiled (and narcissistic) attempt to procrastinate.

Some stuff that I didn't write but found interesting (and especially good if you're wanting to procrastinate):

Ugh, where's my soma?

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