I didn't write this week. Sadly it did not start with a zen like decision to put the novel down so peace and fresh inspiration could rush in.
It was more of a watch a two-year-old rip an airline safety card to bits and throw a box of taco shells through a basketball hoop (different days), become intimately familiar with the summer camp season of The Epic Tales of Captain Underpants, see snow comedown in Nashville upon the shoulders of my unprepared and underdressed children, kind of thing.
Flying anywhere can take it out if you, but flying during school break with four small children is a particular flavor of exhaustion.
The day we arrived home and I should have restarted work on my novel, I wrote my self eval for my annual review on the subway instead. Next chance I had to write, I joyfully drowned myself in the minutia of an itemized, multi-day packing list for an upcoming work trip. Avoidance and the quest for control much?
I could have forced myself to write this week and maybe I should have. To prove something about grit and dedication. To soothe myself when I fear that this little writing project is cute and admirable but not serious. I keep showing up and trying but will that alone ever lead to anything?
There's probably a motivational sign that says it absolutely will, and maybe I should go online shop for it before I get too close to not believing in it again, since I'm not writing this week anyway.
Week 104: I think I can?
Some everyday: No
Words: Zilch
See you next week.