"Now I'm hunched over a typewriter"

status check - Fine
background ambiance - Bright Eyes, "We Are Nowhere and It's Now"

It's hard to lock yourself into a commmitted relationship with a group of characters and basic plot arc. Most likely why other people don't try writing novels.

And partly why I keep on trying it. No, I haven't had success yet, but I know that if I keep persisting, something will click and work. I'll actually be satisfied with the work.

As for now, however, I'm not. Satisfied, that is. I keep pounding away at it, but everything sounds like drivel. The best writing is that which comes from your experiences ... but what if I'm not satisfied with my experiences thus far?

I was hoping that the novel would prove a welcome diversion this week, as I've been hindered by the listlessness that seems to have come over everyone. Perhaps there is some truth to the concept of a "most depressing day of the year" - perhaps this, the very bottom of the rut between winter and spring, has just been the most depressing week of the year.

We've all spent more time rubbing at knots in our backs than doing enough to put knots there. We've tried to muster up enthusiasm to burn through a few hours of work, but instead aimlessly click on Internet links and check email. Even the IM conversations designed to distract us consist of more ellipses than letters.

I mean, I'm feeling lethargic. I want to feel energized. Yet I'm listening to Bright Eyes.

It is a week just designed not to make sense.