Let me clarify, I apparently have stopped using my notebooks (paper, pen, pencil, words scripted). Somehow I have allowed myself to fall into a digital cataloging of ideas, without drafting a response. For over forty years I spent meditative time scratching out material on scratch paper or planners, junkmail, napkins— at one time I carried two or three journals with me, haphazard organization of verses, observations, freewriting, and scratches of formal arguments presented for later drafting sessions before sleep— digging deep for well-crated phrases.
What happened to my compulsive self? Where did the obsession wander? Too easy for me to blame mundane chaos of living: getting Brendan to school, preparation of lectures, grading final exams, paring nails on the back porch—
What is necessary: change the course. Find the old current.