I so desperately wanted to go back to bed this morning—snooze for what little time I could before heading to work for the evening. But it’s June now, and I made a commitment, whether I like it or not. So here I am, drinking coffee instead, and struggling to think of what to write. I’m moderately awake, I’m on a new dosage of medication, and I’m trying valiantly to put my excuses behind me.
The thought of writing—or of not writing—always brings with it a measure of guilt.
I actually wrote yesterday; the first advancement on Ancients and Death in many, many weeks. A moderate 500 words, but still—anything is better than nothing. I felt good about it. I may try again tonight, or perhaps even on my lunch (it looks like rain today). I may even complete this beleaguered chapter soon, and post it for the rest of you to read.
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