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today
I wrote today. Not revising, not pulling reference, not just making notes to myself to turn into something later. Actual writing. For maybe the first time in 4 months. It was nice. I miss this.
I mean, it wasn't easy from a mental standpoint. I was dreading it up until the point of writing it. The work involved. The mental weight of it. But then I wrote. And everything was a little easier.
I wish there was more time for this in my life right now. I want to come back to this on a more regular basis. It's wild, how much good it does for my brain. Then again, I've also made myself physically sick by writing without stopping before. But the balance somehow feels easier to find when I'm more focused on the catharsis of release than the productivity of it.
Anyway I wrote a page today for the first time in 4 months. It was nice. I miss it.
(Sorry I sound melancholy and bummerface, Sundays tend to do that to me. why work why)
I mean, it wasn't easy from a mental standpoint. I was dreading it up until the point of writing it. The work involved. The mental weight of it. But then I wrote. And everything was a little easier.
I wish there was more time for this in my life right now. I want to come back to this on a more regular basis. It's wild, how much good it does for my brain. Then again, I've also made myself physically sick by writing without stopping before. But the balance somehow feels easier to find when I'm more focused on the catharsis of release than the productivity of it.
Anyway I wrote a page today for the first time in 4 months. It was nice. I miss it.
(Sorry I sound melancholy and bummerface, Sundays tend to do that to me. why work why)