Tired.

I’m just tired today, y’all.

Tired of worrying about how often I’m writing and how much I’m writing and what I’m writing and where I’m publishing my writing.  how many words.  how many pages. how many stories.

I get tired of wanting to write and not finding time.  Tired of having time, but not wanting to write.

I just get tired.

Tired of loving writing, and hating it.  Tired of feeling trapped by it and freed by it.  Tired of feeling inspired by it and rejected by it.  Tired of chasing inspiration and being tackled by it.

I’m feeling tired today.

If I could spend an entire day writing, would I?  If I could write a dozen essays and send them off to be published, would I?  If I wrote an entire novel, would it be any good?  I get tired of wondering.  and worrying.

I get tired of the inevitable anxiety that comes with creating.  with art.  with storytelling.  And tired of the anxiety that comes from not creating.   of losing ideas.  of having them slip away.  of seeing someone else do better. do more. do it all.

I’m just tired.

Tired of not finishing projects.

Tired of not liking projects,

Tired of work piling up.

Tired of choosing between parenthood and writing.  between event planning and writing.  between socializing and writing.  between. between. between.  I’m tired of being in between.

It’s all part of the process.  I know.  There will always be days like this.  I know.  I just have to push through it.  I know.

But today, I just need to be tired.

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