A better effort?...I don't think it's possible.

Every time I think about blogging, my mind immediately goes blank. Why? I find this infinitely irritating. I used to be witty and have stories worth telling, and these days, for the last several years really, I have felt that there is nothing.

I mean, funny things are happening, like the practical joke that was played on me Tuesday night that involved a random pair of lost underwear hiding under a desk, and the unbelievable truth that we just bought child gates to keep the cat out of our bedroom at night. These are ridiculous things. I should have funny stories accompanying them that would make you laugh.

But the effort, the energy for the effort is totally, 85-95%, lacking. It's not even that I'm overworked. While my job has been insane since second semester began (Jan 31st), it has also provided some much-needed diversity with random outings on beautiful days to offices around campus and problem-solving that has stretched my mind and creativity. It's been fun, though nutty. It's not school-work either, as this semester is very low-key and low-intensity, and I am able to not stress about school for the first time since I started this crazy notion of a second Master's.

It could be that it's winter, the dead of winter actually, which is my least favorite and the most insufferable. I have to admit that I do suffer through the winter blues and am feeling awfully blue most of the time these days (except for those moments of hilarity or sweetness as provided by various members of my family and friends).

Sometimes I wonder if it isn't deeper, though. I'm entering month #7 of not being able to run. It's not just the lack of running either...it's exercise of any length, level of intensity, etc. I've been quasi-lethargic for seven months and it's reached the point of unbearability. I see students running outside now, during this warm front, and I'm so jealous it hurts. All I want to do is run. Just for 5 minutes. And then I get out of my car, or stand up from my desk, or roll out of bed and feel the pins, the twinges, and the stiffness in my lower half. And I know I cannot run now if I ever want to get better. Come on, body! Throw me a freaking bone here.

I'm tired. Tired because Quincy doesn't let me sleep more than 4 hours at a time (he simply loves too much), tired of not getting exercise and feeling those endorphins pumping through my veins, tired of wet and snow and dirty shoes tracking crap in the house, tired of stale air in buildings, tired of filthy cars that I hate to touch, tired of hurting and being forced to use it as an excuse to sit out from fun activities, tired of not being able to concentrate on things I want to because of the sheer amount of "required activities" (read stretches) by my physical therapist.

This post has turned almost bitter here toward the end. Sorry about that. It wasn't intentional, but now you see why I am not writing more, why I cannot write more. My brain settles back into this state, and no matter what, I don't want to share my "trials" with you because they are lame and I know it. They are minor.

I heard somewhere recently that if the whole world dumped their problems into one huge pile and we saw what everyone else was dealing with, we'd quickly grab ours back up and keep them. I think there is great truth in that. Last night, for instance, Kyle and I saw a PBS Frontline episode about human trafficking in eastern Europe. One young married woman was sold by a family acquaintance to a well-known brutal pimp in a different country who abused her so severely that she will never be able to have children again (she had already had one son, who was five). How is something like that even possible in this world? Does that not just ignite a fire in your gut for justice to find out these deplorable human beings who abuse their fellow men (and women)?

See, now my problems seem very small and insignificant.