I'm writing as hard as I fucking can

With a grand total of about 2 minutes max between calls, I am
trying to get some writing done. Odd really because when I have
all the time in the world, I don't feel motivated. Take three days
off in a row and I'm not likely to even check my e-mail, man.
Give me 30 seconds free at work and I'm like James Joyce on
speed.

The problem is motivation on more than one level. A lot of time,
I don't feel like I have much to say. I've said a great deal since
1998 and I plan to continue writing. It's just that the world seems
like such a great big conflagration waiting to happen. I used to
think things were so beautiful that I just sit down and weep at
the magnificence of it all. Now ... and maybe this is the Zoloft
talking ... my sadness is just kind of generalized. I'mso depressed
about not being able to see the world or even a good portion of my
own country that it feels better just to withrdraw.

I've got to figure things out. Even if I only go up to Indian Country
for the weekend, wouldn't it be worth it? I could make it to Ames,
Minneapolis, Kansas City, Chicago, Denver, Boulder, St. Louis and
points in between quite easily on any given two-day period. I could
experience much, meet people and open doors and horizons. So why
don't I?

I'm tired and getting more so all the time.

So I'll just keep trying when and where I can for now.