I think  I may have lost the spark to write poetry. : / I mean, I already knew I wouldn't be doing much with it, but I can't grasp why I suddenly feel out of inspiration. Am I tired? Too busy? That never seemed to bug me before. Although, after my laptop went out, I've been very worried about the small collection of poems I had been forming over some time. I had about thirty at the time, and now I don't know if I can recover them. A good portion of them exist in different parts of the internet, so that's relieving as long as I don't get hacked, but at least 5 or 6 may never reach my eyes again. And they're not necessarily things I have memorized. I know I wrote one bit of prose about the tragic and short tale of a frog and a baby bird. I know I won't remember exactly how I wrote it, and that really upsets me, nor will I attempt to write it again. Perhaps my universe is merely shrinking. It seems I am missing my wonderings about life; uncertainties have been replaced by mute facts indifferent to hopes of the future and past. I suppose my mind is settled on matters of business recently, and  I would rather complete tasks as I have time to complete them, and creative thought patterns sometimes require more effort than I have energy left for.
On a separate note, I hope visiting back up here is short. I'm already having allergy symptoms. Damned dryness. I want to be back in reasonably humid Sacramento.

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