God, I miss writing, is what I think, sometimes. I feel it much more often. I avoid the whole thought even oftener.
What's the point? Just get off (or on) your ass and write.
Jealousy rears when I hear others' writing praised, others who apparently I think I'm equal to if not better than. Such hubris. Ridiculous. Then get off (or on) your ass and prove it. What could be simpler?
Listen up, self: Just because you feel tired, time pressed, sleep deprived, pulled in too many directions, without an outlet, overwhelmed at where or how to start, trying desperately to ignore that ominpotent feeling of uselessness about any writing you may do ... all justifications. None good enough. The answer: simplicity - just write. I know, just write. Shut up, just write. It's all I have. All I can do.
So, I leave this, on my way to feeding the cats, collapsing into bed, surroundering to the battle of things undone, to start again tomorrow.
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