H is for Hole.

It’s been a long long slippery slope falling this far in two years. Down here at the bottom of this barrel is a swirling swill of sleep deprivation, slothdom and immobility.

Back when I’d graduated (or thought I had) from my long stint at the banyan tree, I was so inspired; so motivated. My goals were so clear and so promising.

But the universe, as if Satan himself feared what I might accomplish, threw nothing but hurdles at me. The long gradual erosion of inspiration and motivation have surrendered me to my instinctive laziness. Several times I thought I was on the verge of climbing out, only to bang my head into more hurdles and collapse again.

And now, here at the very bottom (how I hope this is the bottom and it can’t get worse), what hurdles does the universe throw now?

None.

Now it throws only life-lines.

Three medical professionals are giving me as much of their time as I wish. Four dear associates who appeared to drift out of my life have recently reached out to me; revealed I am not as forgotten as I assumed.

The Eloquent Potter continues to be a miraculous comfort to me. The guy is a genius; incredibly wise and truth-seeing. He always understands me at once, and does not flatter. He understands my total alienation to this place, and feels it himself, but unlike me, is empowered to leave. And soon he will go. But we have the miracle of internet and so he will never be entirely out of reach.

I have started regularly listening to music again and feeling moved again by familiar words of wisdom.

I’ve managed a couple effective steps toward better sleep potential (and there are many more outstanding).

I sometimes ponder tasks without feeling overwhelmed; without imagining that the effort will be lethally exhausting. I don’t always rise and do them. But at least they’re not so intimidating.

And here’s something: I recently pulled up my work on the novel Crazy Legs (working title); the first 14,000 words. I was a little stunned to discover that I am not alienated from it after all this time! The characters are still intimate and very real to me. Everything was perfectly familiar! This has never happened before after such a long layoff. I know I am fully capable of picking it right back up again. November first and National Novel Writing Month is coming. I have a week to properly prepare.

I am not motivated. I am not inspired. But I’m thinking that maybe this stuttering semblance of momentum might breed more of itself and carry me, if even in fits and starts, until I can carry myself again.