Like that second Star Trek movie . . .

I know I've dumped a lot here today, but then I am still running on no sleep, so here goes the last post of this calendar day.

Do you remember that things that Khan's people stuck in Chekhov's ear (sorry, the other character was only in that movie, so I never remember his name)? It dug in, causing no shortage of pain, and then wound around the base of Chekhov's brain, making him Khan's robot. The problem is that Chekhov did as he was told, but it almost killed him to acknowledge that it was in his head. That's how this thing is with me.

The problem in my case is that I don't remember getting it put in. I feel the pain when it rises, but it never comes all the way to the surface. I can't grasp, can't recognize it, can't even catch a hint other than that it has something to do with a failure to produce. But produce what?

This is my call to any who may chance to read this: If you know this feeling, this frustration, respond by telling me how you manage it. It has hit me in the last hour that I am not merely feeling as if I am not producing; I feel, at the worst times, as if I am blocking creativity.