Blogging your wobbles; it's problematic, isn't it?

Firstly: a fleeting snapshot is all too liable to be read as a definitive portrait. (Particularly when one flounces off for a few days offline, leaving the posting in question dangling morosely at the top of the page.)

Secondly: for this blogger at least (although this is manifestly not true for others, whose grace under pressure I humbly salute), wobbles are the enemy of free creative expression. For, lo: even as the well of inspiration runneth dry, so doth the reservoir of confidence evaporate. And with neither inspiration nor confidence, I am as nothing.

When confidence runs out, perspective starts to skew. Support is mistaken for critique; friendly advice as intrusive nag; seasonally tumbling stats and capricious de-linking as lofty judgement.

In spiralling Benny Hill circles, bony, stunted little words fruitlessly chase after the big sexy, ideas that will flesh them out and make them whole.

As energy returns, so inspiration trickles down and through. Order is restored, as the currents are reversed: the ideas once again starting to generate and shape the words that will best express them.

Some words and ideas, however, are best expressed - can only be expressed - far, far away from here. So expect something of a sporadic, spluttering service for the time being. An occasional spiritual spittoon, if you will.

Honestly though, I'm OK. Sweat not.

Mike Skinner, on the radio: (plaintively)
And I'm just standing there. I can't say a word.
Because everything is just gone.
I've got nothing.
Absolutely nothing.

Lydia, who turns eight tomorrow: (witheringly)
He's got a dog.