"I'm in a wide-open space, I'm staring..."

Here I sit, attempting to get some much-needed bed rest, but as per usual, I'm finding it hard to resign my mind and spirit to the needs and wants of my body. My body is tired and achy and sore and sick. Very sick. And the very fact that I can't seem to shake this illness (which, incidentally, was borne from the Devil himself) is confirmation of some sort of deep-seated exhaustion. So, here I lay. Attempting the aforementioned bed rest.

Easier said than done, especially for this gemini.

My mind, in direct contrast to this tired achy shell I'm in, is always racing - like a greyhound that never catches the mechanical rabbit. I've tried to stop it, to slow it, but to no avail. So instead, I try to appease and distract it by either keeping myself too busy to notice its incessant pace, or distracting it with what has always been my favorite thing - other people. Sadly, I must report that there are no other people in my room today - no one to put on a puppet show, juggle, or do a little dance - so my mind is undestracted, unfettered, and doing a darned good job (or joearb, as some would say) scuffling around all by its lonesome.

Frustrating? Somewhat. Especially since I find myself suddenly knee deep in time. Time to listen to the birds chirp outside, watch the light change as minutes and hours pass, contemplate life and love and relationships, relish in the feeling of being wrapped up in my sheets or maintaining a warm body print in my bed, despite the fact it's 4pm. On the other hand, I've also got time to reassess my job, reavaluate my house, relive that confrontation with Diane, plan expieriments, assess my next "career" move, or judge the fact that I haven't written in this thing for a long time. The latter, of course, was the reason I shifted and squirmed away from that warm body print two minutes ago and grabbed my laptop.

So, here I sit, like a goon, staring at this blank page while all of the useless facts/quirky antecdodes/current events/loves/hates/complaints/compliments previously gushing around my head simultaneously and spontaneously combusted into a puff of smoke. How can it be that, just a second ago, I had tremendous thoughts poking and prodding at me, keeping me from sleeping, but the moment I start writing, they vanish. This whole experience reminds me of something that happened last night while I was dining with my beau. As I watched him talk about his day and his job and his plans and options and why it annoys him when people claim to have "discovered" they're Jewish, I felt that same dissolving of subjects in my head into nothing. Like I was a black hole of information with bupkis, nada, nothing, zilch to contribute. Like I had everything to say but no idea how to spit it all out, no idea how to make the point that is now playing a very clever game of hide and go seek.

I think I'm in a funk. A post PhD, mid-flu, pre-perfect job/life funk. And I'm really flummoxed as to how to get out.