Writer's block: I have it.
This is pretty unusual for me. Generally when I have large, life-changing events, my creative faucet becomes unclogged. Anxiety feeds into productivity when it comes to the written word. But right now, the internal censor isn't letting anything out past my fingers. I get to the plotting portion of a story for instance, and find it entirely trite and the form and function of the plot to be rather dull.
Whether or not they're dull is anybody's guess. The latest (purple-haired sorceress's apprentice is sent on a mission to retrieve a specialized vinegar - weird labyrinthine market hijinks and evil cults ensue) abruptly ran into a rather petty bit of my brain piping up and going "boring, it's retrieve a foobar, go play more mindless Flash games." The next moment, the anxiety kicks in whenever I consider the plot.
So, well. The anxiety. That's nothing new. It censoring my ability to create fiction or much of anything else is a new one. The good news is, I'm also logging these things on the orders of the therapist. I've also got an entire week out to decompress, continue packing my shit for moving into the new place. The bad news is, it's 100F. Physical discomfort contributes to emotional discomfort.
Still, experience has taught me by now that anxiety and life events are generally transitory. In my case, in a week and a half, I'll be into my new apartment, life will start smoothing out, and this too shall pass.
And hey, in the meanwhile, there's always a ton of gardens to explore, cider to drink, and friends to spend time with and talk to. Life, though complicated, isn't terrible.