When I have nothing to say.

I've been suffering with a serious lack of something to say.  I've got three half finished blog posts that have gone completely unpublished.  I've got an inkling of an idea bouncing around inside my head like a lopsided rubber ball, and I just can't get it all out.  So.  I thought I should write about the fact that I have nothing to say!

I have been off work for a few weeks, and you'd think that would give me a ton of time to iron out my convoluted thoughts.  Apparently not.  Do you ever get the sensation that you're banging your head against the wall?  I feel like this, utterly and completely.  Every so often, the impact will knock a word or two loose, but none of them can be strung together into a coherent thought.

Why, why, why?

Here's my self-diagnosis (what a narcissistic thing this can be...).  I haven't had a moment to recharge.  I am a total introvert and I spend a very long time inside my head on a daily basis.  That generally takes place during my long commute to and from work every day, and at the end of the day when I can grab savored moments to myself during a long walk or something quiet.  On vacation, I am busy having fun (oh the horror!) and not so busy being quiet.  Quiet is my fuel, and fun, apparently, my kryptonite. Ha!  How ridiculous is that?

I love spending time with friends, family and my children.  I love laughing, engaging in good conversation.  I love long days with amazing people.  But all of these things take a lot out of me.  They leave me with random rubber ball words that make no sense, until I take a few moments to sink in to the rapture of quiet.

Isn't it a strange thing, that when I partake in my quiet, the words come out?  Isn't it a strange thing that as an introvert, I relish in publishing my thoughts?  Such a contradiction. But isn't life a series of hilarious contradictions?  Like, doing nothing makes me flourish.  Like, when I sit in the dark, things come alight?

I've been learning a lot about personality traits like introversion and extroversion in the past few years, which has deepened my knowledge about myself immensely.  However, I still forget sometimes.  I often to get to a place where I find myself short-tempered, irritated by things that don't usually ruffle my feathers and generally unhappy.  Then, every time, it hits me that I haven't spent any time alone in days, and I see my solution.  It's my solution, every time.

How easily we get wrapped up in ourselves and forget ourselves at the same time.  Again, hilarious contradictions.  Life.