I am about to give up. Watch it happen, in slow motion:
This week I haven’t written much. I’ve gotten up every day to make an attempt, and my failures are astounding. Such as this morning. I got up, got wet by the snow, got my favorite writing table, opened my outline—didn’t feel like working on it—opened a short story that needs revision—didn’t feel like working on it—opened a new story—didn’t feel like even thinking about it—looked at the files on my hard-drive, sighed, grabbed a wireless signal, commented on a friend’s blog, wrote a post about work (see below), which only got me thinking about work, which ruined any and all motivation to be creative, plus I have to get my tax papers together for my appointment on Sunday, plus I can’t find anything in the apartment and grabbed what I thought was my winter glove and which turned out to be A SOCK, plus I have a huge freelance proofreading project due Monday, so this weekend will be a wash, plus I have been depressed for no reason for almost two whole weeks now. It’s lovely. I recommend it wholeheartedly.
I am not sure if I can make it through this day.
Conclusion? I’m going to give up on trying to write and just go to work early. I am such a loser. If my hand gets cold on the walk there I will cover it with the sock.