It’s been a long day. I started work back up so it was a lot of paperwork and getting oriented. Imma be honest, I’m tired and this post almost didn’t happen. It felt like I had to and I didn’t wanna. *cue tantrum on the floor*
Some shit is just a slog to get through. An obligation. A requirement. Something we have to do. This space shouldn’t be that, but I also know that if I don’t make myself take the time (habit forming behaviors/rote tasks/training my brain) it won’t happen.
I don’t want this to be an obligation for me. It doesn’t help I haven’t gotten up the gumption to write a story yet. Fiction is safe (weird, but true). My brain knows where the words should do and they go there when I’m writing fiction. Where the hell are the words right now?
So this post is all about how some days even the thing you love is work. I didn’t want to write anything, but I made myself. Even if it’s just about not wanting to do it, it’s something. I’m firmly in camp ‘Something is better than nothing’. This gets me one step closer to finding my creativity and I have to honor that process. Even when it’s a slog.