A bit of Self-Indulgence while lost in Nowhereland

This is a story about nothing. It was meant to be a story about something, but that got lost somewhere between my brain and my fingers typing these words. So the story has been lost. And this is utterly pointless. It's not even a story.

Don't read any further expecting conclusions. Or even beginnings. We're simply going to go swirling around the plughole, getting nowhere. Or in a labyrinth with no exit and no David Bowie. Or perhaps, if you're more cosmically inclined, we're stuck in a stable orbit, never getting further or closer to anything worthwhile. That's a strained metaphor I know. But it's on theme.

The truth is I have lost what I want to say. I was in the middle of writing something actually important but I lost it. It had no soul; it had no craft. It was simply a collection of words meaning nothing to anyone. Not interesting to write or read. So I have abandoned it for the moment. Or possibly forever. Who knows. Inspiration may strike if I'm lucky. But right now, I don't know what to do. I can't start other projects because I'm fearful that the lack of creativity will extend to those and ruin them for me. And I can't justify staring at the one project in the hopes that it will magically become good after a sudden burst of heavenly intervention.

This rut won't last I'm sure. Ruts always end. But I feel like I'm running out of time to do something useful. Or write something mindblowing. And that pressure, on top of being in the rut, makes me nervous.

What if the rut is never ending this time? What if this is where I'm stuck until I can write nothing interesting no more? Then what do I do?

Probably write stuff like this; and get myself stuck rounding the plughole. With no start and no end in sight. On the edge of irrelevance. Fear and loathing in and of my own mind.

Is that an accidental conclusion? I hope not. I don't feel like I'm near an end in any way. But still I have to stop here.

I fear that if I keep writing this I will either get stuck inside my own mind, that labyrinth with no escape (and still no David Bowie) or else (and worse) be launched out of orbit and be lost for eternity. And I've wasted enough time on this self-indulgent piece of immediately forgotten and never-read prose anyway.

So that's it.