I've been tweaking a short story I'm hoping to self publish soon. I've also been sketching out ideas and waiting for the art supplies I ordered to arrive. 'I feel like I've come to a really functional place,' she says, sitting on her couch in her pyjamas at 1 in the afternoon. Lock down rules apply, of course.
My definition of functional is my own, and my standards are not particularly high. We're fed, the sink is empty, the kids are occupied and here I am, busting out a blog post. It's not bad for a Monday.
I have to admit, I'm finding blogging a little hard right now. Part of it is that I'm throwing everything into this story. I'm a bit creatively drained when it comes to words and ideas. All my focus is in that direction, and focus is hard to come by in this brain of mine. In fact, here is an informal list of things I did today to avoid/delay writing this: washed dishes, started laundry, ate a (single serve!) cheesecake, listened to a podcast. Granted the dishes and laundry needed doing, but I waited until I sat down to try to write to do either of them.
The fact of the matter is that nothing I have to say feels important right now. There's covid-19, and
America is well, it's all just a bit of a fucking mess right now. Blathering on about my mental state seems empty and pointless. But I promised myself I would post on a more consistent basis, so here we are. Me taking 3 hours to essentially say nothing in the hopes that someone will read it. At least the cheesecake was good.
