Part of the problem with my madness of writing at night is sometimes by the time I get around to my writing time, I'm too bushed to think let alone create. From shortly after dinner until about an hour ago, I was snoozing on the couch, trying desperately to find a little bit of energy to sit here and write. I didn't want to. I wanted to spend tonight playing the part of broccoli in the couch potato olympics.
And then I remembered my admonition the other day about committment. If I couldn't get my tired ass of the couch for at least an hour, how the hell could I look at myself in the mirror? For that matter, how the hell could I face any of you who'd read that post?
I dragged myself off the couch, and sat myself down here. I could've let it slide when I got to a stopping point after 200 words, but it wasn't much of a stopping point. (Anyway, laziness makes me feel guilty.) Besides, I promised last year that I would get at least 500 words out when I sat down to write.
They probably aren't the best 500 words, but I did it. Now I'm having a smoke and going to bed. G'night all.
2018 Books Read
4 hours ago