I’m not really sure what to write about today. Usually some sort of thematic idea continues to run through my mind over the week but this week I am somewhat adrift (unless you count experiencing tons of stress as a theme). When I realize I have no idea what to write about, it scares me. I fear that maybe it’s gone forever. Maybe I only had a certain number of ideas left in my head and I used the last one up yesterday and now, for the rest of my life, I’ll never ever have an idea ever again. Of course these thoughts are foolish, and even while I’m thinking them I know they are, but at the same time I feel anxiety bubbling up from my stomach. I start worrying about when I become homeless (because, in my anxiety brain, all people who are homeless have experienced some creative catastrophe) I won’t be able to even write a funny beggar slogan on my piece of cardboard. I imagine myself sleeping in an alley hungry because all I could think to write on my cardboard was ‘need food. help.’ and no body wants to give money to ‘need food. help.’ Then, at the height of my anxious thought tangent on creative and financial destitution, a part of me tells the anxious part of me to shut up. This part of my mind sound a little like drill sergeant. It tells me I’m going to be fine and to stop being so melodramatic. And so I stop. I watch a funny clip on YouTube and I feel a little better. Then I realize even my not being able to come up with an idea is an idea. And then I write about that.