all but blank

I haven't written anything in I don't know how long. When I think about doing it, I feel all tapped out.  I'm still reading, still sorting through and looking at words, every day.  What's with the no-fly zone in my brain?

I can't even blame this on vacation.  It was like this before I left.  Trouble is, writing group is tonight and I will be damned if I know how I'm gonna produce anything.

This rambling, this here rambling that I'm doing right now is no good to anybody.  Maybe if I just keep rambling, roaming, meandering eventually I'll find the bottom of this blankness.  Unearth a big ol' chunk of fetid, rotten story that's been waiting to be found for months, maybe years.  I sure hope so.

In the meantime, I'll think of crazy new ways to describe my all-out lack of words.