I feel like I’m behind. I’m trying to sleep in later since Sunday is our time change here. As a result I caught little Stella doing number two on the floor as I am walking to the door to let them out. Seems she couldn’t wait two seconds for me to open the door.
I got a lot done last night. Vacuumed, dishes swapped out, two loads of laundry (and I put them away), swept the floor, washed the sink and counters and cleaned up the tables in the living room. Oh and did the toilet in the master bathroom. A lot yet not. It did not take very long as I spaced things out over the evening.
I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to keep it all together so I don’t feel guilty doing my writing. No, no one would say anything or do anything. But I would feel guilty. I am home and have time to do things besides write. It’s not fair if I don’t do that for him, For us.
I’m sitting here hoping the coffee kicks in soon (or the spacebar starts working when I push it the first time… I’m not picky at this point). I’m also looking at my stack of writing books. I have quite a bit but I pulled the ones I wanted to reference and try to read near by where I write. I also have a bag near so I can trundle a few of them to a different spot if I want to. I also have a short stack of fiction I am reading, mostly at night to go to sleep.
I look around and I have everything I need to do what I love. So why don’t the words come? Why such anxiety? I know I can write. I know am pretty good at it when I’m on my A game. So why? Failure? Possibly. I have all the tools so now it’s down to me. I’ve passed on many of my dreams and I’m down to this one. If I lose this I lose all. So hold on like grim death.
I hope by doing NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month for those who don’t know) I can teach myself to work thru the anxiety and write anyway. I have been doing this to an extent with my blog (and thank you for not booing me off the stage). But if I’m going to get serious about doing a big project I need to be able to do this. If I can make a difference there then I can try it in other aspects of my life. I can start to move forward and climb out of the pit I managed to dig for myself. Even later in my life I can start again. Just like the bloom that is opening on my vine late in the season.