The heat these last few days has been unbearable. Real, non-British, bullshit heat. My general problem is that this isn't that hot, because I've been in Georgetown during a heatwave, and the only refuge I had during that holiday was the hotel, where air con ruled supreme. Over there it was horrifying, you'd step outside thinking that the hotel's temperature was representative of the rest of the world, but you'd leave the threshold of the hotel and then your skin would set alight.

I exaggerate.

So that was highs of late 40s, I think? Something stupid. Over here we're currently on 26 and in the grand scheme of things that's pathetic, but still.

Douse me in ice water.

I've always struggled with writer's block. I can go swathes of time without being able to put pen to paper (or finger to key, as the case may be in the world of laptops and tablets that we live in) but other times I'm a machine, churning out content relentlessly until I burn out after a productive period the likes of which I've never experienced before.

But that time fades and I'm no longer productive, and a cycle begins of lack of productivity, then lack of time, then lack of anything. Then I'll be productive for a while, because that's the nature of the thing we do, but then the cycle starts again. Lack of productivity then productivity, then lack of productivity. The thing is, the timeframes began to lean more toward the former than the latter and I'm stuck with an inability to come up with anything worth putting down to keep.

I've heard people say that writers write and that if they're not writing then they're not writers, but I hope that's not the case because that means that for lengths of time I'm nowhere near what I want to be. I don't think it's fair to dismiss someone's 'passion' because they're in a low spot, it's patronising, it's debilitating, and it's deflating. I want to write, I really do, I want to write narratives that draw you in and make you care, but I'm in a position where ideas don't mean that stories get written.

Now, I'm trying a few bits and pieces to get back on top of it. I'm writing this, which is the first, proper, long form piece of writing I've done in ages. It's four paragraphs (so far) and that means something (I think) but it's the same old shit written in the same old way but written at a different time. What's so good about that? At least I'm able to get to grips with writing proper sentences again.

I've started so many little projects, jotted so many notes, so many ideas, in the lucid moments, but those lucid moments are few and far between. That means I have a dozen or so stories percolating, ready to be rummaged around in when I have the time, but the time doesn't come. What can be done about that? I should write when I can write, I should make sure I note down every idea I have, and then I should keep powering forward.

Work keeps me busy, so much so that my life outside of work is pretty lacking. I work and I work and then I sleep. Sometimes I go to the gym. Sometimes I sleep. Not recently, though. That's a pain.   The weather over here has become suffocating, which is brutal when you have asthma. Waking up unable to breathe is not the best way to ensure you get back to sleep.

I could try and blog every single day but that would mean that I have to force myself to do something that might not bring rewards, and I tried before and failed. I guess I'll just have to do everything I said is difficult and make it easy.

Which isn't impossible, right?