Last night, I should have fallen asleep with no trouble at all… but I realized around 1:00 am that peaceful rest was not about to happen. The evening had been lovely… good food, good entertainment, good loving… and yet, as I sipped a very good glass of wine, expecting that gentle wave of calm that I’ve come to expect from my nightcap, I knew it would elude me.
From a place near the center of my breast, I felt the freezing glow of a tiny, bright blue sensor, indicating something was amiss with my psyche.
And I know what it meant.
My will to act has started to shut down. I’ve lost the impetus to make changes and move forward..
I wrote that yesterday, and then I stopped writing.
The words weren’t ringing true… although now that I read them, they seem pretty accurate.
The problem is this: now that I’ve decided to write, I can’t do it. By the way, I’ve also decided to look for freelance and contract work instead of long-term employment, but I’m in no mood to do that either. I called the Unemployment Office yesterday and asked for a raincheck on my required training session… I don’t need them to show me how to look for work, or to prod me with a stick like a recalcitrant old mare, and make sure I’m going through the paces.
I don’t want to do shit.
Today, I slept until nearly noon. I woke up tired, and I can’t wait until it’s ten or eleven o’clock, so I can resume my date with Queen Mab.
On the plus side, I did read a book… something I haven’t done in a very long time… but I really didn’t take pleasure in it, because I’m supposed to be WRITING a book, dammit, not reading one. I should be outlining… making character notes… fleshing out the story.
I should be working.
So here I sit as usual, totally ineffectual and riddled with GUILT.