Last month was spent trying to move from Clarksburg, WV to Montgomery, AL. This weekend I finally managed to do it. Right now I'm sitting in my Mother-in-Law's house -- our temporary location while we look for permanent digs -- and I feel exhausted.
My wife and daughter had gone on ahead, leaving me to do the last bit of packing that needed to be done before following them down here with our dog. That "last bit of packing" turned into a nightmare that kept me in WV a full three weeks longer than I'd planned. It was nuts. And during that time I learned that while I'm capable of many things, one thing I apparently can't do is focus on writing when my routine is disrupted that significantly.
When I'm traveling? No problem. On vacation? I can still find time to write. When I'm in the middle of packing my life into boxes and trying to shove it into a storage unit as fast as I can so I can live with my family again? Apparently that's when my ability to tell stories just... goes away.
I suspect there are plenty of writers who can handle that level of disruption, or even thrive on it. I'm not one of them.