That particular anxiety when what passes for a moment of inspiration strikes and, while recognizable as what it might be, is neverthless impossible to believe. Cue the second-guessing and the dive into unrelated though possibly related problems (is it wise to use the journal in which you write to forget as a tool to capture aforementioned moments you wish to remember? is your system hopelessly broken?) as a means of avoidance while simultaneously wanting to embrace and be embraced by it.
Maybe it’s the caffeine interacting with the blood sugar or somesuch alchemy. The question, then: have I been looking through the rearview mirror for so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to drive while looking through the windshield?