I feel like I’ve lost the ability to compose anything with any depth. Perhaps I’ve been working too long on my book and it has none. I don’t know. I’m slogging. It feels like I’m slogging. I don’t feel poetic or profound or like I’m saying anything that hasn’t been said. Part of it, I think, is that the plot must progress and it’s that progression that can so lack anything profound. Plus I really would rather take a nap. I’m pathetic.