Inner Dialogue

Sometimes I feel like I should be writing, but I'm not quite sure what I should be writing about. Or that I should have a lot to say, but am not quite sure how to say it. It's sort of like there is a germ of an idea there that is waiting to be expressed, but it's not fully mature enough to blossom into prose. Tonight is one such night. As always, there are several currents of conflicting emotions competing with each other to see which surfaces first. If I listed things on each side of a folder page, the columns would be just about even. Perhaps that is what keeps me overall balanced? or is it off-balance?