There was or there was not, in the oldness of time...

Once more, the wanderlust has taken hold, atop a kind of deflated misery of unknown source. Usually the season grips me, pushing me through the months in a kind of grinning trance, but now, I cannot find the slightest smile.

I have not written a word all week. My fingertips and muse feel fat, and lazy. I have ideas aplenty, but not the inclination to spit them out onto the page. I’ve worked less than I should have, and my bank account is feeling it, but I have no energy spare to work the extra hours. And I’ve spent far too much money in the last few weeks, but I just can’t seem to stop.
But, it’s Biz’s birthday on Tuesday, which, oddly, feels more of a milestone for me than either of my ‘key birthdays’ ever felt for me. Perhaps this, and the childish traditions that we hold so dear shall shake me from this indolent state and set me free. Or, perhaps if I force myself to write, and work, I'll find my groove again. Whatever; I’m letting it all go for the party, anyway.

I have a new itinerary for travel, which I shall disclose another day. Suffice it to say for now, that I shall be delving into fewer places, but leave a deeper groove in each. I bought a new book; my favourite book all year, I think - ‘PALESTINE, A Guide’, which looks at every facet of this fascinating culture. I think I’m going to try to write a folk-tale that fits the Palestinian style. Perhaps I’ll alter Homecoming to fit.