Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. -- Gene Fowler

Monday, August 23, 2010

Slow Morning

It's one of those mornings. The past week has been busy, full of stress, unwanted tasks, and general blech. There's been good news and bad news, both of which are stressful. And I'm hung up on the fact I just used a form of the word 'stress' twice in a row, and my Inner Critic won't let it go. Watch me walk away from the now thrice-used word, waving farewell to my Inner Critic as she stands there, fists on hips, pouting and steaming from the ears, cartoonlike. Ha, I ignore you. I am too tired this morning, my mind too full of cobwebs to worry about a little thing like that.

Someone needs a hug.
Not that I should let my standards drop, I think, as the Critic pounces on that phrase (which I erased once before remembering I'm defiant this morning), crying, "Yeah, like your 'standards' are worth upholding, you hack!' Now that I've started writing something, the Critic has decided she's been neglecting me these past few weeks and is lighting into me something fierce.

That's okay. As I said, I have too much brain fog to really register a lot of the Critic's abuse just at the moment. I'm thinking of the cat on my wallpaper, of the phone calls (ugh) I have to make today, of the fact I've not gotten started on any articles like I've been planning to do for a long time.

Okay, now that's a downward spiral. I suppose I should end this ramble right here, in the hope that it's not a complete waste of time/bandwidth/pixels and that someone gets something out of it, even if that something is that I am a very odd duck.


  1. You are a very odd duck, but it's one of the things I like about you. B)

  2. I like to think that's true of most of my friends. At least I hope it is! :)