I can’t think straight.
I haven’t been journaling.
My quiet time is non-existent.
Yep. Those are my share of excuses. I know I’m a better writer when I can write my morning pages. It gets my negative inner critic out of my head and onto paper. Then I can see how really wrong she is.
But … I’m tired and I can’t think straight. Like really, scary, crooked thoughts.
Like I should order this book and I look over and it’s in my pile to be read.
Like how did Facebook know yesterday was my anniversary and pull a picture and wish me a happy anniversary — when it was really Duck who posted it under my account because he doesn’t have one.
Like I’m kinda scared to do anything for work in case I mess something else up royally.
So, instead of making yet another excuse, I went ahead and wrote this out. I will probably look at it tomorrow and realize how crazy it all sounds. But at least I wrote.