April 18, 2002
The past several days have been completely useless. Despite the heavy workload and deadlines that are fast approaching, I’ve done nothing. Literally nothing.
I’ve made bogus attempts, sitting at the computer, forcing out garb, but none of it’s been worth anything. I haven’t made any progress because I just haven’t wanted to deal with writing. I’ve been making excuses left and right and sadly, I was happy when the cat threw up all over the carpet so that I would have an excuse to stop trying to focus on writing and instead on cleaning up.
Part of my funk is my still lingering fear of failing. While I’ve made peace with the fact that despite any and all efforts, fear will always been around, I think it’s been more prominent lately. I’ve stepped up, making more demands on myself and writing and going to new levels. I think because it’s uncharted territory I’m scared of it. I’m no longer in my comfort zone. I keep reminding myself that I felt the same way a year ago when I began and look at how far I’ve come now. Still, it’s scary to move forward.
Part of it could also be the weather, having not seen sun since August. Or maybe it’s partly due to my cold or something simpler such as brain rot. Whatever it is, it’s here, blocking me.
At least I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. It looks like over at Loobylu she’s understanding exactly where I’m at. I know this mood will pass, I know I’ll get back to kicking some ass sometime soon and I know that for as long as I’m writing there will be dry spells such as this. I’m learning to deal with them better instead of beating myself up over them, but still, it’s a royal pain in the arse when I have work to do and I just can’t do it.