Somedays I get to my desk full of trepidition or empty of intention. I live as a householder in the world and that means that there are many things pulling my attention away from writing. Perhaps a child is having a rough patch or work is needing some special attention. My sweet patootie might be wanting some loving care or paperwork is getting behind. And occasionally (thank Buddha, only occasionally) all such forces collide at once - like a zillion little hands tugging at my apron - "me, me, me!"
And sometimes there is nothing to be done - just waiting, hoping, praying, distracting until the knots unravel with time or patient occasional untangling.