Where was I going with this?

Earlier this week I read an article on the benefits of writing by hand; how handwriting stimulates different parts of your brain than writing on a keyboard does.  My writing guru, Lois, was the first one to tell me about this several years ago.  So, guess what I'm doing now?  Got my smooth-writing gel pen and my handy-dandy Moleskine and guess what?

I gots nuthin'. 

I am in one of those moods where I am desperate to create - write, draw, paint - and I am totally unable to take the first step.  Or maybe this is the first step and it's the second one that is so bloody difficult.  I just can't get a grasp on any sort of inspiration.

Grief has smacked me pretty hard this week and perhaps that's what's blocking the creativity.  I'm embarrassed to tell you how my momentary joy at discovering a channel running old Night Court reruns morphed into something abject when I realized it was the episode where Judge Harry is interviewing prospective bailiffs because Selma had died unexpectedly.  

I've always known that my life basically is Night Court, pretty much every single day.  This just sort of confirms that, I suppose.  Although, Sushi would be furious to know I compared her to Selma the Bailiff.

Speaking of Sushi, she (and several others) have taught me a lot about the value of thank you notes and written praise for expressions of good character, rather than just for good deeds.  Recently I've tried to doing this more.  I have been working, off and on, on a draft of a letter to the head of the state agency that oversees our funding.  They sent auditors last week to help clean-up some long-standing financial errors. (Disclaimer:  Errors from before my tenure. Heh.) The auditors were helpful, polite and competent - not at all like the whores of the anti-Christ that I'd always been lead to believe they were. 

Then I got an email from one of them, which basically accused us of withholding documentation.  (I had the secretary mail the bazillion and a half pages of additional documentation that she wanted rather than sending and resending it via an unreliable fax line.)

Grr.

This particular auditor is very, very suited to her job.  And she comes from a different cultural background than I - one I know almost nothing about.  And I, accidentally, in a round about way, totally unintentionally, told her she had big feet the first day I met her.  Given all of that, perhaps I misinterpreted her seemingly terse request.

I still need to do the letter, right?  And still thank her for her fabulous attention to detail, right?  It's the right thing to do, yes?  Even though she pissed me off and I'd like to stomp those over-sized toes? 

So maybe that's my creative endeavor for the week - to finish that bit of writing and put it in the mail.  I still feel like I gots nuthin' though.

It turns out I unknowingly wrote this on the one-month anniversary of Sushi's death.  No wonder the grief has been particularly palpable.  How does our subconscious keep track of this stuff?