I’m supposed to be writing a thing.
Actually, I’m supposed to be writing three things right now. One medium thing, one large thing, and one colossal-hugetastic thing. I mean, I’m also supposed to write here on this blog, in this space dedicated to the writing of the things in my life, but …
And I have been, haven’t I? Writing the things? Here, at least? Maybe in less volume, in less constant tippy-tap of keys. But I’ve written here. I am writing here. I even have drafts saved here, snippets of drafts in my iPhone Notes, little bits of things scrawled quickly in colorful pens in my planner or umpteen notebooks. One liners, great paragraphs, ideas, flops.
I do not have writers block. Exactly.
I possess some quality ideas for quality pieces. But I’ve found my quality making seems to take more time as of late. I’m kind of stuck in slow motion. Or as LittleBrother says, “Stuuuuuuuuuck innnnnnnn slooooooooooooooow mooooooootiooooooooonnnnnnn,” as he molasses in February moves toward his bedroom at bedtime. Funny, that kid.
And yes, boy howdy, I am busy as of late. Work keeps me on my toes in the best way possible. I’ve sorted out a cleaning schedule that maybe I should write about someday. I’ve been doing this weird thing called reading books and finishing them—I still can’t return them on time though. Baby steps. Half marathon training started again, and I’ve been working out daily since early January. Workouts with a Capital W that make your legs kind of Jello like and, when you wake up in the morning, you can’t quite remember why you cannot lift your arms. For the record, I’ve lost no weight but I seem to have found my tricep muscle. Bonus. I’ve been cooking real meals, and sometimes not, and sometimes just serving delicious leftovers of those real meals because sometimes leftovers are even better than the first time around… but not always. The dog got sick; she’s better now, but she’s still a Special Snowflake and needs lots of attention. I’ve enjoyed some time with friends and learned a bunch of new things.
And sometimes when I get home at night or put the boys to bed, I’m just kind of spent. Not kind of. Just really.
I don’t want to force the writing when I don’t have the energy to do it, even though I read that one piece about not waiting for the energy or the right time and just freaking do it. Maybe I should. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should stop reading about writing and writing about writing and just write. Maybe I should eat nachos at 11:55 PM.
I know I have some great pieces inside my head and on bits of paper and cloud space. I know I’m going to write them, give them voice, push them out into the great unknown. I know it’s all going to happen. I feel like 2016 is my year. I’m turning 35, even though I just accidentally typed 25, and I think that just sounds fantastic. The 35; I wouldn’t want to do 25 again. I’ve already started in on some Big Things for the year, and I just know that with some work, some time, some dedication, some more work, and a little bit of faith, more Big Things are coming for this year.
For now, I’m going to be patient with myself. I can’t do all the Big Things at once, just as I can’t do all The Things at once. In fact, cuddling with the dog seems to sound a little more my speed right now.
There’s always tomorrow.