Everything appears to have come to a grinding, screeching halt.  At least in my world.

The irony is not lost on me that on the longest day of the year I had the least to do.  I had planned on certain things; for instance, I had planned to go to the beach this past weekend.  When that fell through, and I discovered that even my six weekly hours of ESL classes were canceled, I panicked.  I had an entire week with absolutely nothing to do.  I began to wonder if there were such a thing as time-related agoraphobia, and if I might have it.

Remember that song- Too Much Time on My Hands?  That’s how I feel.  I need stuff to do, things to focus on, somewhere to put my energy.

I should be happy; I should be grateful!  I know there are those that would kill for a week off, to do absolutely nothing.  It just seems that everything has come to a complete stop, and I am mired in a hot, sticky, unredeemable week.  Time does seem to stretch out when you have little on your plate; conversely, when you have a thousand things to do, there is no time in which to do them.  Oh, ironies of life, how you amuse me.

The biggest irony?  Lots of time that could be used for writing, and where is my muse?  Gone.  Gone gone gone.