The drought in my mind

If approximately 70% of the adult human body is water, then I wonder how much is required to lubricate the imagination?

I wonder how much liquid is necessary to allow neurons to glide into unexpected constellations, sparking new thoughts, like particles colliding in a nebula, creating chain reactions and eventually, stars.Β 

Science probably can’t tell us, except old-fashionedly, through Maslow (whose heirarchy of needs somehow seems to bend effectively to whichever evolutionary point anyone should wish to make (I can’t speak for the suitability of points being made (even this one))). If water is present, everything else can follow, all the way up the triangle to the tip of self-actualisation, if you can see the point.

When water is lacking? Who knows.

It’s a common battle-cry of the healthy – “Make sure you stay hydrated” – as well as a standard for parents and anyone advising someone who’s ill (“Keep your fluids up!”). We are a watery species, and of the percentage of our bodies, an approximate 2/3 of that is within our very cells, helping them to stay functional, stay capable, stay up!

The effect of water within the cells and vessels of our brains is (presumably) no different to anywhere else. The most obvious way a lack of water affects our imagination is to transfer any focus on it, to the more immediate necessity of adding liquid and maintaining the status quo. Conversely, drink too much water, and your cells can swell and break down; with not enough room to continue expanding inside the skull, the swelling of brain cells is particularly dangerous.

A cursory search suggests that little to no research has been done into specific effects on imagination or creative output (such a study probably not taking precedence in any scientific budgetary discussion…likely for good reason).

Hydrated or not, my mind is suffering a drought.

drought in my mind

Image shows obliquely angled watercolour galaxy with stars and planets in a dark, night sky behind bare tree branches, with the words ‘The drought in my mind’ along the border.

I could write dusty sentences of the barren plains populating my inner landscape. I could wax lyrical about the parched ground and cracked desiccation surrounding my inner eye. I could bore you half to death about the absolute, complete and utter lack of the tiniest drop of life or deliquescence in the catchment of my creativity.

I know. I am nothing if not a very determined contradiction in terms.

The fact remains that I am that saddest of creatures – a writer without a thing to write. Perhaps not literally, but in terms of the forward and self-sustaining motion of a juicy and well-lubricated creative brain, everything has dried up and gone crispy.

In life, I am a fan of sunshine. Blue skies and fluffy white clouds are my absolute favourite, along with whatever level of baking heat accompanies such a delightful upper atmosphere. Hydration is all well and good, as long as it isn’t pouring on my head, and the people who know me best will tell you truly, there is no sadder person than a rained-on Lizzi*. Right now, though, I can’t tell you what I’d give for a little bit of an internal, imagnative sprinkle!

I’m not asking for a deluge, or for the need to build an ark for the occupants of my (previously highly populated) inner world. Just enough to get a bit of a trickle going, somewhere. Some kind of trinkling miniature waterway to whet the edges of my mind and turn them to a productiveish sort of a muddy soup, where something might grow.

Additionally (and if it’s not too much to ask), I wouldn’t mind a bit of aΒ point, whilst we’re at it – a reasonable sort of a purpose for writing, after all, other than shouting into the wind (onscreen) and giving you the pleasure*** of learning the distant bounds of my dry spell.

Some people write books, and they write their blogs to support and promote the books, or as a way of developing the content of the books, or to engage with the people who buy and enjoy the books, and want to know more about the authors. [Favourites here, and here, and here, and here]

Some people write to decompress, and whilst I admire this thoroughly, my life (thankfully) seems a little sparse in the ‘Ooh, this is worth writing about!’ department, and is functioning much more at a ‘Can’t even think of a decent Facebook status’ level.

Some people write as a platform for their good cause, which is wonderful (depending on the cause), and a very connecty, community-generative endeavour, but I’ve done that, lost the community, lost most of my connections, and quite honestly lost the point. Gratitude is a great attitude, and one I advise everyone to live by, just less vociferously, these days.

This person writes in a void of purpose, in an absence of point, and without ever seeming to give up entirely or properly take up the reins. This person writes, quite likely, mostly to herself, and even when speaking in the third person (a lapse, I assure you), cannot imbue her words with any further function than that of taking up space.

Which brings us back to stars, in a manner of speaking. And which, in their infancy, are thought to produce water.

So there.

*figuratively speaking, within the bounds of this very weather-specific context**.

**conversely, I do love a good thunderstorm, and get all whooped up and hyperactive on the inside.

***highly subjective, I know, but I’m adopting a positive mindset.

[Final FYI, the artwork in my image is produced by the WONDERFUL TJ Lubrano, whose whimsical, fantastical creations you can see on her instagram.]

23 thoughts on “The drought in my mind

  1. I am almost exactly where you are, Lizzi. As you’re listing “some people write…” I am saying to myself, “not me!” I don’t often have anything to write, but when I actually produce something, I’m glad I did. I try not to pressure myself, but that’s tough to do – it’s in my makeup πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

    • Well, AND it’s nice to write…when there’s any kind of reason to do so, which I find increasingly difficult to pinpoint. I’m like you tho – glad when it happens.


  2. I’d like to think, as I fear being no good at anything in particular, that writing is what I’m meant for. That is why I can feel you on all this, but why I can’t stop because I feel if I stop, I may never start again. If I didn’t, then what?

    I write about my feelings of invisibility or else of sticking out in a not so good kind of way. I don’t want to just write for activism on the issues that I think need more attention, of which have an effect on my life and others. I need to write other things too. The purpose often seems lacklustre and I fear I am putting words out into a void. I think people are probably sick of hearing it from me, of seeing/reading my words, but I may just slide away down into the darkness if I were to give it all up.

    I miss those earlier blogging days, especially here, but I can’t fault anyone else for where life takes them. Nice to come back here now and then though, I must say, and I wish you well where you are, whatever else may happen Lizzi.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks so much Kerri. It was so much fun, wasn’t it. We had such a blast, what with the blog hop, the vid chats, and everything else. I think one of the things that changed is I had to prioritise my health because I was existing on less than 5 hours sleep a night, and it was, frankly, dangerous. That put the kibosh on staying up late blogging and talking, and now there really aren’t enough hours in the day. Once I’m studying there’ll be even fewer.

      I definitely don’t think people are sick of reading what you write. You have a very readable style and you manage to challenge without being aggressive. I think your words are vastly important, and I know you don’t want to become niche, but for us who don’t consider it, to hear from someone with vision loss is expanding and it matters a great deal.

      I love your travel writing too. Have you got more adventures planned?

      Liked by 1 person

      • If I might say so, it seemed like you were keeping up blogging, but that it had become a connection to all the connections you made in North America. The time difference and all that space in between, no wonder it was showing in your health.

        I have no real travel plans, beyond a short day trip this week to Niagara On The Lake, to see Stephen Fry in a theatre performance. I have decided, if my life isn’t to be what I’d always imagined for myself, I will travel at least once a year, assuming I can afford it. So, I am starting to dream up my travel for 2019.

        Liked by 1 person

        • That. Sounds. Amazing!!! And seeing Stephen Fry will be EPIIICCC. Have a brilliant brilliant time. He is so good.

          YAY to travel plans! It is a sucky process, adapting to how things are, rather than how they were meant to be, but I do hope you find huge joy in the wonderful things you’re going to do.

          And yes, blogging was definitely a connection thing. I’ve lost a lot of those now. Life changes.


  3. It’s a season, sweetie. It’s simply a season of rest for your muse. We ALL have been there and will go there again. You are such an incredible writer- always will be! For now, just enjoy the flowers, the skies, the walks, the nothingness but beauty and living day to day- And I PROMISE, inspiration, ‘the point’, a cause, a passionate purpose- all that will come. ONLY in perfect time. Trust that, love.

    And just BE exactly where you are, right now.

    (PS: I know it is SO HARD to not grapple with the why and the when and be frustrated with it all!)

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh my goodness is it EVER! I should be luxuriating in the chill of it all, instead I’m champing at the bit looking for reasons!!! I know you’re right. I really do. I just…I miss having a reason for writing here, and all the lovely connection it generated. 😘😘


  4. I think some of the lack of inspiration, at least for me, is that the blogging world has changed, which I know we’ve talked about. When I began, there was a giddiness that each of us had – sharing and reading and having conversations. So many of my favorites from back then no longer write much… I manage to care enough to write for FTSF each week but I need that “should” in order to do. Maybe we just need to get fired up about something? I dunno. I like this post though and will be thinking about bodies and cells and water and stars today. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 2 people

    • Hehehe awesome. I had this post pegged to go in an entirely different direction then it kind of wrote itself as I got lost in learning new things.

      For me, the ‘should’ became a chore and that sucked, which is why I gave up the TToT. But giving it up sucked too so I’m not sure I’m better off.


  5. I so feel you on this one ❀ Try as I might, there is no flow, and I can feel the blockage, the dam, physically in my body. My shoulders and neck specifically. I have just let it go for now and am trying other creative outlets but I so miss the inspiration flowing through me. I am highly impressed and encouraged that you wrote this! Your words always have some magic sprinkled through them and sometimes, we all need sprinkles. ❀

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sprinkles make a huge difference, especially on dessert. On desert it’s slightly different. I still think I’m lacking a point. YOU most definitely haven’t run out of talent. It is just all tucked away in a reservoir for some reason. Life has peculiar timings sometimes. I’m certain you will unbung and your words will flow beautifully once moem 😘😘


  6. …’cause of his accent… he says, ‘Al you min Eum’
    I am not, make not mistake, making fun. I kinda like this guy. He’s (imo) honest and sincere (didn’t say right or correct of scientifically sound…. said, ‘honest and sincere’.

    Minute: 2.27 “ask the question… can I dowse write today ?

    sure, you can thank me later….
    I’ll be back…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Aloo min eeyum. The way it’s meant to be said (ask Mr. N. Webster), and cor, ‘e’s a propah geezer innee?! Blimey mush!

      But wotever ee sez, I don’t fink I’m gunna ‘ave muck luck wiv twen’y by six inch rods ‘anging over me brain in case ov wa’er bein’ fahnd. Innit.


      • It is a considerable skill to be keeping. I haven’t been writing much either, except in comments, lots of comments. I guess that counts, but sometimes I feel a bit guilty for not writing more actual posts.

        Liked by 1 person

        • You are SO amazing at comments. And…I’ve always said blogging ‘should’ be guilt-free. It totally isn’t though. I’ve just gotten beyond guilt to apathy πŸ˜‰

          Liked by 1 person

          • Thanks, I can’t do amazing comments without something amazing to comment about. Still, it does seem to have become a specialty. Anyway, here’s my pep talk: You really are an interesting person with an interesting life and thoughts. I get it that you’re not feeling remarkable. The truth is, neither do I. When it come to comments, I just let my strange brain bubble up whatever it connects with what I read. The biggest trick to that is finding great stuff to read and loving it.

            Liked by 1 person

            • I don’t find your brain strange, and I am very glad you like what I write. I think in the grand scheme of things I am the fairly standard kind of remarkable in the way so many people are. I just share more…but it still feels a bit … lacking in purpose, sometimes.

              Liked by 1 person

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