It seems like my level of internal conflict has risen to a point that I can't really hear my muse. When I snatch a minute for writing or reflection, there are layers of conflict that I don't have the skill or perhaps the mental stamina to permeate in order to listen to the quiet that I know is still there somewhere.
Perhaps my level of creativity is so connected to my energy level (currently at a January level) that I can't wade through all the layers. My muse might be screaming and I can't hear through all the moisty clutter-blah what she might be suggesting.
It shouldn't be but a few days, I'll be writning in the meantime.