This is what writers do best. We get distracted, and procrastinate until backed into a corner. We'd rather clean the spaces in the bathroom tiles than come up with a new story idea, or continue with one that's already there.
Or maybe it's just me.
I'm trying to get settled into this whole 'full time job', '1.5 hour commute each way', 'why do I have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn', 'dammit, it's time to go to bed' lifestyle. Managing my time is about as easy as chewing tinfoil (try it; it's not fun. Nor is it easy.), and I just don't feel like micromanaging myself.
But if I ever want to write again, it's something I'll have to do.
On the upside, I've been finding more balance within myself when it comes to 'inner peace,' and that connection between mind and body. I've also been expanding the social circle at an increasing speed and it has helped me to learn some things about myself, this city, how I see other people. And who knows? Maybe that's more important for me before I can get back into my old grooves.
Or maybe I'm carving out some new grooves to follow... in which case, patience is key.
All I know, is that my quality of sleep has been terrible. Either I stop breathing as I fall asleep, or I anxiously wake myself up, neither of which are good. So my health (physical and mental) has been taking precedence lately. Perhaps writing can be part of the healing process...perhaps music, or painting, or dancing. Or singing? I don't know.
Or maybe I need therapy.
~Pusher. Of. Pens.~
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