The shame of not writing well

Hi all,

I didn't write this last night, and it was partially out of shame. I've been working very hard, and very long hours on this project. And I had a great and really productive day on Saturday.

Then on Saturday night I took a break, hung out with my husband, and did some things for fun, like watch The Truth About Cats and Dogs and go get ice cream. Because sometimes you just need to do that.

Then on Sunday I had yet another full day ahead of me with nothing but writing on my schedule.

I woke up and had some coffee.

I tried to envision the day and tasks ahead.

I tried to think of where I would work best when I realized it wouldn't be at home.

I tried to figure out what to work on when I realized the plan I made on Saturday wasn't going to work that day.

I beat my head against a wall for a while,

decided to check some citations

and do non-generative work

so I was still being

a bit productive.

I went to Target,

I tried to bore myself into writing.

Nada.

I came home and watched two--yes, Reader, two--Jason Statham movies. I indulged in feeling grumpy and angry about everything because I couldn't write.

I had a beer.

I ate salad. And grilled peaches.

Finally, I plunked away at a few keys, wrote down some ideas.

I made a list of assignments for a class.

I listened to podcasts and went to bed, all the while feeling like I should get up and do more.

Today I got up, and I struggled for a bit.

I had to take a walk and a shower and do push ups and send an email and make several thousand cups of tea.

But I wrote. And I edited, and I made sense of a few things, and put them in their place.

And now I have a plan for tomorrow again.

Let's hope it doesn't involve Jason Statham.