Mope. Whine. Mope.
You may have noticed that I've been delinquent with my haiku lately. I'm not big on posting stuff about myself or my life (well, other than 175 or so haiku that I've posted so far). This is partly because I don't want the internet to know too much about me, and partly because I feel like my life is not particularly blog-worthy. I'm not a one-woman news outlet. I'm not spearheading a world-changing project. I'm not particularly funny. I don't think I even have any readers who aren't close friends or blood relatives.
I write three-line, 17-syllable poems about mundane things. Lately I've been concerned that these little poems aren't very interesting to anyone but me. I've even been having trouble writing them, which never used to happen. Maybe my desperate search for a job, ANY job, is sucking the creativity right out of me. Maybe the internet is just too big a place for my 17 syllables. I feel like my words are getting lost in the void (sort of like all those resumes I've been sending out).
Does anyone have suggestions to cure writer's block? If I mope any harder I just might fall in love with a teenage vampire. Although, despite her admirable moping abilities, I'm pretty sure Bella couldn't spell "ennui" with a dictionary.