I feel so unproductive where my writing is concerned that I want to curl up into a ball with an entire sack of Dove Dark Chocolate or maybe even Godiva Dark Chocolate. I'll take either. (My dog Missy, left, portrays exactly how I feel.)
I'm mentally exhausted from too much stuff going on at work and at home. Thing is, writing is my escape from all that. But I haven't taken advantage of it lately because, well, here's the thing - it feels like work right now.
I wonder if I've hit burn-out central and this is my mind's way of telling me to just go read a good book for a few weeks, watch a bunch of movies, and let my brain rejuvenate.
I don't know if I like that prospect, though. I'd rather be writing.
Then why can I muster absolutely no enthusiasm for it right now? Perhaps the depression hasn't completely gone away. I no longer feel so negative and dark about life, but I'm not exactly the perkiest person to be around, either. I haven't been getting to sleep at a decent hour for the past two weeks, and I'm hitting the snooze button a little too often.
For now, I'm going to blame my lack of energy, motivation, and drive on the hot summer sun. I am not a summer person and I loathe heat. I can't stand to be hot. It makes me unbearable to live with. I usually hole up in the basement where it's nice and cool (and ironically, is freezing in the winter).
Maybe I'm just tired. I've only hit Curves three times in the past two weeks. My lack of exercise could definitely have something to do with it.
At least it's Friday. That already makes me feel better!