Lost days

This last fortnight seems to be one full of lost days.  And I’m afraid that today is going to be another one.

I feel like I should proffer an excuse for a lost day.  I can come up with dozens, should I need to.  In short, I am tired and vague and suffering from the toxin dump of a particular intense deep tissue massage yesterday.  And it all just feels like excuses.  I feel like I should just push through it and get those words down, dammit.

Should is an evil word.

I am going to leave the computer for now and go and rest and read.  At least I can fill up the well.  Though it’s somewhat telling that instead of tackling the books that I should (and there’s that should again) be reading, I’m comfort reading.  Which right now is a re-reading of the Hunger Games trilogy.  Which is just as horrible and intense upon rereading as it was on the first read.

Mirrored from Stephanie Gunn.

And sometimes the days aren’t lost after all

After thinking that today was going to be a lost day, I forewent my daily walk (figuring that I did get some movement in cleaning the house, and that the human suit was pretty sore and sorry anyway), and fit in a writing session.  1,700 words later, and I had the end of chapter two.

That’s more like it.

Mirrored from Stephanie Gunn.