I’m not breaking down sobbing, or stuck in bed 24/7…
But I’m still in this same, lingering mindset of hopelessness and misery.
I made the effort of spending time with my best friend yesterday (Thursday) and today (Friday) – but…
I don’t know.
It’s like embracing a different kind of distraction.
It’s enjoyable in the moment, but in the grander scheme has changed nothing.
I’d been making steady progress on a few writing projects recently… Less so blogging actively here than I should be, but still. Two short stories, each approaching 10,000 words at the moment – one right at that number, the other with more of a gap to close.
But now I’m finding it harder to progress, day by day.
I wrote, maybe, 300-350 words yesterday – a paltry sum, but still *something* at least. But almost nothing today. Maybe a bit before sleep, which will be coming (hopefully) shortly.
I’d been writing more daily, before. But then I’d felt like I was writing the central, more developed story for someone. And now, doubting it would even meet their approval or tastes? It feels like the wind has left my sails.
I don’t know whether to complete it out of a sense of dedication to the initial endeavor, or to file it away as another abandoned draft…
Or maybe it doesn’t even matter.