Coffee in hand, I'm here at the used book store today for the first time all week. Mostly I've been holed up, working on this freelance project and trying to wrangle some other things in my life into some sort of order.
As I was driving into town and then walking from the coffee shop to the bookstore, I noticed something. Most people are wearing shorts or short sleeve shirts. Huh. I'm wearing a wool sweater and down vest--it's the only thing I've been wearing for the last few weeks whenever I have to leave the house. I mean, same sweater even. Okay, I change my underwear. But otherwise, it's the same. I just can't muster up the energy to think of something nice to wear when the weather refuses to play along. A month ago, in a moment of hope, I hauled most of my sweaters off to the dry cleaner, figuring I wouldn't need them any longer. Ha! Hahahaha.
Yes, well. Then we had a blizzard. And it's been stubbornly cold ever since. So today I'm wondering if everyone knows something I don't. That's how the whole week has gone. Everyone else seems to know something and I'm just stumbling along, struggling to keep up.
Maybe the problem is that I haven't written a single word of my novel or any creative personal project this week. Some people seem to use writing as an escape, and I wish I could do that. But when life gets hard I find that writing is the hardest thing to do. I can't shut out the world when I write the way I can when I read. However, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm the kind of writer who needs to write just to stay sane. Like writing is my happy drug prescription. It doesn't make me feel good so much as it hauls me up to relative normalcy.
Time to drink my coffee. I raise it to you in honor of Friday, sunshine, and the possibility that the weather may have a pleasant surprise up its sleeve today.
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