My life goes on but my writing doesn’t. I think it was Freud who said that to have a happy life you need both love and work. I have one but not the other. I’ve had both and I was happier.
So sit right down and go back to work, you say. It’s not so simple. I keep thinking that I’ll do that in the fall despite my insistence of retirement.
It’s true that I was tired of the routine, but I’ve had a rest and now I feel I want to write. Perhaps that’s because at this moment I can’t. I may be fooling myself. Once I can I might not want to. That remains to be seen.
The point is that at this moment I feel I want to write, feel I would if I could.