I'm finding it hard to think of stuff to write about at the moment. Both on the blog and off, things are a bit stagnant. At least they sort of look that way to me today. I'm able to put tons of details into words, and I'm able to come up with silly thoughts, but I neither want to be bogged down with uninteresting details nor awash with unbelievable two dimensional silliness. It's a problem.
I think it's THE problem, though. Characters in plays or books are often more shallow as the writers would seldom bother to describe their hero going to the toilet or dragging round Ikea. Conversely, in my life at the moment, though things are nominally exciting with a house move imminent, the hard truth is that I did drag around Ikea last night, and I was even thrilled to buy a mop this lunchtime. Hell I even gave a lot of thought to whether to buy a 39p can opener, or whether to splash out on a more expensive one.
That's the difference between real life and fiction. Perhaps the problem I'm having is that I can't see either of my real life or my written word as being particularly three dimensional at the moment. It will probably change after the weekend when the full reality of house ownership hits me, like a jellyfish.