In my enthusiastic restarting of my writing practice, I conveniently overlooked that it is quite painful to regularly wring a series of sensible words out of my brain. Let me proclaim this while I’m down: I hate to write. Yes, I despise writing. It’s a terrible, terrible thing to have to do. And the only reason that I “have” to write is because I want to. I’ve always wanted to. And I’ve always given up. It’s always gotten too hard.
Yes, I know there are all kinds of contradictions in this post, but I haven’t the energy to elucidate right now. Still have the flu, and the aches, and the coughs. But I said I would write each day and these are my words for day three, with plans to be here again on day four.