If I write something today it will be 121 days in a row of writing. Ever since I broke my over 1,800 days of writing I have been off and on the writing-wagon. I used to invest a lot of thought into my pieces. I used to try new styles or delve into new topics. Now, I’m stymied a bit. I want to write. But when? I used to put out a piece everyday at 7:05am. Now, I’m bleary-eyed at that time. The Red Bulls don’t really help. Where are my writing wings?
This writing everyday bit is self-imposed pressure. It’s unnecessary. Yet, I do it to myself. In some ways, I take great pride in having things to say and share. I also take pride in my self-discipline. Sticking to a routine can be hard. Sounds trite, I know.
But here we have it. Pride wins out over my sense of being tired and lazy. By laziness I mean I don’t feel like thinking deeply right at the moment. There’s no topic I wish to delve into right now. I rather just be blank. Blank on paper. Blank in thoughts. But I pushed myself; perhaos in part because I ate too much. I need something to aid in the digestion. Might as well spit out words to empty my stomach.