Where are you? Hello?

I stared at the computer screen for hours last night desperately trying to come up with something to write about. I had nothing. What is happening to me? Have I become so boring that I have nothing to write about anymore? Has my life become so routine? Is my creativity on vacation? Did it get away again to watch Mt. St. Helen spew? I wish I was in Seattle, then at least it would be rainy and I would walk around and kick at puddles of water.

Don't worry, the ranty voice is still around, but he’s just annoying right now.

Where are all those other voices that used to talk so much in my head? No, they don’t tell me to do things (not always anyway). Mostly, they would just be having their own conversations. I’d listen in sometimes. They’re mucho fascinating. It feels like I can listen in to the collective unconscience (Jung) and experience the voices of others. Just listening in to what people are thinking. Past and present. I think there is such a thing. Hence I think it's very difficult to have an original thought. Something completely new that no one has EVER thought of. Ketchup with ice-cream? Yea, someone thought of that already. Using only 2 syllable words for a whole day? Yea, that too. Been thought of.

I do think it is possible to have an original thought. Just not me not right now.

I’ve really been trying to thinking of something great and imaginative to write about. I have this awesome idea (It’s about the life of an odd couple, a homage to “Perfect Strangers”). Ok, maybe not awesome, but at least amusing. Every time I sit down to scribe some scenes, I just blank out.

I never used to have this problem before. I don’t think anyway. Of course, I used to only write academic papers, and for the most part I’ve always thought those were easy because they were so structured. Coming up with the idea was always the most difficult part. Once I get one though, look out!

So where’s my Mojo? MOJO… MOJO JO JO… I’m not feeling bad or anything, maybe a bit Blaady Von blaadeberg, but nothing too serious. There’s just nothing in the old noggin. Seems like I’m running on empty. Nothing gonna on upstairs. Hmm.. welcome to Cliche city. And it seems also that they’ve changed the locks on the doorway to the collective (oh.. so borg like, nerdy cool!), and I’m left on the outside. Left to defend for myself.

If you’ve seen Mojo, please let me know. It likes to wear a big bar handle mustache and speak with a British accent sometimes, that or dress like a pregnant nun. If you have it, please put it in a jar and mail it back to me. I will pay for the postage.

Thanks.