Sometimes I am so utterly dense. I’m a writer because I love to write. It stands to reason that when you spend too much time NOT doing what you love to do, but doing a whole bunch of other unimportant shit, it might make you a little unhappy or discontented, right? Right. Well, I (idiotically) haven’t been making much time for writing lately. At first it was frustration with my writing and needing a break, then it was too much work on my plate, and then it was just laziness. I noticed recently I was having a harder and harder time focusing and concentrating on my work. I was really hating it, and not able to get anything done. For the last two days I have written in the morning for myself, and then spent the rest of the day doing the work I need to do to pay the bills. Like magic, I am less annoyed with work. Less annoyed with life. I’m in the sweet spot where I haven’t fallen into self-criticism yet with my writing and am just happy to be doing it. Sitting down to write is not easy, there are a million other things that I could do that would be a snap to just slide into, but you know what? They’re not fucking important. 75% of the time they’re fine experiences, but very rarely are they important enough, or contributing enough to my overall happiness to override writing. So why is it so goddamn hard to remember that?
If I had an iPhone I would wish for an app to take care of this.
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