It's that time of year again. Love is in the air. 
It isn't because it's cold, because I love my winter clothes better than any other season's apparel. It isn't because there are sappy Hallmark commercials, movies, etc., or even ultra sexy, innuendo-laden Victoria Secret commercials.
It should be a month that truly inspires the writing muse. After all, romantic fiction is what I'm striving to write. But, it isn't. Here's why. February is the month that reminds me of romance gone wrong (or never right, as the case may be) on a personal level. Not to mention that my tendency for winter depression is in full gear! I got married in February and then I divorced - in February. Not really a reason to anticipate or enjoy the month of "love."
Work has been trying to help me out though. I was twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do. We are at a point in the President's Management Agenda that there isn't much to do. He's a lame duck and his political appointees tasked to accomplish his goals are starting to abandon ship, so to speak. So, I was bored. What do I do? I ask for something else to do (Note to self: Don't do that again!). Now, I'm so busy, I can't get my day job duties done. Silly me, I have a conscious. Since, I work for the government, everyone should be glad. Your tax payer dollars at work - literally!
So, I've been trying to force myself out of my personal doldrums. I've been trying to make myself find that creative spark that, I swear, was there on January 31, and , to make it worse, January pretty much sucked on the parental front. I need someone to light a fire under me or knock me upside the head and tell me to get over myself. But, in the mood I'm in, I'd probably deck 'em.
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