One of the crappy things about being a writer is that you actually have to write.
My blog posts have been spotty at best in the last few months. Blogging is the only writing I’m doing for myself these days, no matter how many “Oh, of course I’m working on a few short stories” lying liar comments I might throw out when asked. Blogging is my current outlet, and I’m pretty much ignoring it.
I’m busy. I’m busy editing yet another no-swear-word-is-strong-enough spreadsheet for Corporate Behemoth. I’m busy trying to figure out the ins and outs of how Mr. Wonderful and I spend our time and what that delicate balance should be. I’m busy being tired all the damn time and being burned out at work and worrying about things that will unfold in their own sweet time.
I am tired deep in my bones.
Sweet Melissa introduced the world to her Screw Iowa! writers’ workshop. And it is delightful. And I said I would join – of course I should join! I’m an aspiring writer! And encouragement from like-minded folk would do me a world of good.
Except that I’m not writing.
I’m remodeling a bathroom. And I’m scheduling time to kick-start genetic testing to see if the cancer rampant in my family has any pattern or reason. And I want to go to bed and stay there for about three days.
Perhaps I am depressed.
Or maybe I’m just lacking in discipline and enthusiasm. Perhaps a little of both.