I have retired the practice of logging my writing time. It’s a way to inject some new sense of novelty in the writing process. Is it working? Yes. No. That’s a lie. The brain has been squeezed dry of any reason to create due to living in quarantine. It’s not writer’s block. I know what I have to do. But there is no discernible difference from watching a movie and looking at a blank wall. The lack of stimulus and the constant grind of living indoors has finally caught up to me. I exercise. I eat healthy. I’ll read. But that doesn’t even recharge the brain. I received my first vaccination dose last week – the first step towards normalcy. It’s not that I don’t care. Or that I don’t want to write. Or that I’ve run out of ideas. I’m tapped. I can’t give anymore. I’m so fried I don’t event feel fried anymore. I’m just on standby, live a specter, hovering around the house.