Today I feel a little emptied out, as if I’ve over extended myself. It’s odd, I didn’t really write more than usual, but I feel carved out. There are few words left rattling around inside, and little desire to write. Sometimes, like tonight, it just feels a little fruitless. My candle is just one more light among thousands, and always with the struggle to be fresher, specific, clear.
All written out? October 1, 2007