Cancel the Day

Cancel the day.
If there is one thing I hate about being a writer, it’s being uninspired or stuck. I know my story. I know where it’s going. I know how it’s supposed to get there. What I don’t know is how to get my head to be quiet enough to actually sit down and make it happen.
 
So many distractions. Facebook and email are easy to ignore. The pain in my back and legs after electro-therapy this morning, that’s bloody persistent. The nagging bad conscience that I have gained weight while Emilie has been sick, that’s not easy to shut up, either.
 
Insecurities. Writing in Danish is hard, I’m not used to it. Should I write in English, then? And there we go, I’m browsing web pages on how to find an international agent and convince him or her to accept a manuscript. Meanwhile, my novel isn’t writing itself.
 
The more bothered by pain I am, the easier I get distracted. It’s an established pattern. The mornings I wake up near pain free I get all sorts of creative works done. The mornings I fall out of bed with a groan, well, not much is going to happen. It annoys the hell out of me to be dependent like that on something I cannot control. I ought to be able to overcome, to have some backbone, some self discipline — but I’m not.
 
I wrote half a page today. It’ll have to do. The rest of today is cancelled, enjoy.

If It Fits…

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No longer the youngest individual on the farm. There are new siblings in the barn.

It’s been a while since I had the energy surplus to write or draw much. I’ve had five electrotherapy treatments now and healing is hard work. It pays off: I get in the saddle unassisted now. I can ride for 45 minutes without feeling that the world is ending. Well, maybe it’s moderately ending, but not within the next five minutes, anyhow. I’ve managed to trot two whole rounds in the paddock, something I haven’t been able to do for three years.

It feels good. It feels really, really good.

Actually, it hurts like hell, but it’s the kind of hurt that comes from having used your muscles. It’s by far better than the hurt that comes from your central nervous system saying ‘lol nope, we’re not getting out of bed this week, sucks to be you’.

I don’t know what Pilar thinks about it all. I suspect she’s planning to visit my therapist and stomp on her toes.

I still have time to sit with the kitten though.

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If it fits, I sits.
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