I woke up this morning in a black mood. Everything sucks; everybody sucks. And I just want to crawl under a rock and hide. I don't know where it came from, and introspection isn't helping to discern its source.
Thank goodness I'm not planning on writing new words today. I'd hate to see how they'd turn out in a mood like this.
All in all, I'm a pretty happy person. I like myself. I love my family. I have the best cat in the whole world. Not really much there to be grumpy about.
And this isn't a mood where I hate my writing. (I've had those, and trust me, they're much worse than this.) Thinking about my books, I can't point to any of them today and say it's bad. Which is why I'm not going to go back and read them today. I could see myself going over those words I love in this black mood, and having them all turn into disgusting goo. Since I am planning on editing today, I have to shake myself out of this malaise or large chunks of Blink will end up being sliced away unnecessarily.
It's a pretty day here this morning. The sun is just coming up and the birds are singing. There's a strange little house-finch I named 'Syracuse' in the backyard tweeting his little brains out. (He's strange because unlike most house finches, he's got orange points instead of pink, and he's called Syracuse because the mascot for Syracuse University is the orange-men. Silly, but it works for me.)
Maybe that's the key. Find something pretty and immerse myself in it. Revel in the tulips coming up in my front yard, take in the birds singing for their mates, wonder at how soft and fluffy my cat is while she lays on my chest purring.
A few hours of that and I should be right as rain.
2018 Books Read
4 hours ago