rollercoaster of indefinite stupid

all year i have veered -- almost daily -- between gung-ho eager and listlessly blocked: some of this i imagine is the aftershock of dad dying

anyway i got some good tidying and re-archiving in yesterday (plenty more to do): today at work i plan to run out various rock-writing type pieces old and new -- and immediately the idea of this freezes me up a bit... i get a kind of subsonic dread that says "not yet ready to engage", which one way and another i've had whispering at me since i left the wire -- why not, exactly? what is it i need to immerse myself in before i read a piece by caitlin moran about lady gaga ffs

standard pattern:

a: have idea
b: read everything written about everything ever, then think about the stuff that should have been written but hasn't been
c: write up idea

very obviously (b) is the step i ALWAYS have to short-circuit when getting things done* -- i once said to my friend amanda that i get a kind of gloom when i go into a big bookshops bcz of all the books i'd like to read and want to and probably a need to; she said -- kindly and head-swellingly -- that i'd certainly read more of them than anyone else in the shop, but true or not that's kind of not the point

*wordlength and deadlines operate one level of triage; actual focus on the material in question operates another -- it's what i like about film reviews and dislike about "think pieces" i've generated myself