Yogi Berra once said: "Slump? I ain't in no slump. I just ain't hitting."
That's exactly how I've been feeling since Monday. I ain't hitting. I've weaseled out of attending two evening events. I wanted to be there, I was in the mood to listen and participate in the discussions, but I couldn't make myself get ready and go out in the cold. I have a To Do List a mile long, but writing blog posts seems to be the only thing I can finish. I fixed a stir fry meal last night and served it without rice because I didn't have any of the microwave packets, and it was too much trouble to fix regular rice. See what I mean?
Maybe I have spring fever. I'll admit to being a little weary of snow and cold. My office is cold today but I don't have the energy to turn on the space heater (because I have to get up and plug it in first).
It could be the post-first-draft blahs. This suspense novel took a long time to write and I still have revisions to do. I was on top of the world when I finally finished the first draft, but today I'm thinking my main character is a wimp and my plot full of holes. Just the usual stuff writers experience at this stage of the writing process.
I might be coming down with something, I suppose, but I don't have a fever, and my aches and pains are just the usual ones I get when I sit at the computer too long...
I give up. I'm going to fix a cup of hot tea, a bit of toast (with blueberry jam) wrap up in a cozy afghan, and finish reading Stephen J. Cannell's Three Shirt Deal, a Shane Scully mystery (and a darned good one, too). If that doesn't fix me up, nothing will.