That's pretty much how I feel this week. I guess I should give myself a bit of a break since I just came back from nearly three weeks of vacation. I imagine it's pretty normal to feel unmotivated after all that. As of yesterday I've finished up all the crazy post-vacation chores and have nothing on my to-do list, for once. You would think I would relish this. But I don't. I feel like I need something to do to keep me, well, SANE. Worst of all there are plenty of things that should be done, I just don't feel like doing any of them. One in particular has been nagging me since I got home.
The book. It's always the book. Finish the bloody book! But I can't. Why? Well, I suppose because I can't help but wonder, what's the point? Seriously, what is the point?
Personal satisfaction I suppose since my chances of getting published are...wait, there is no chance.
Okay, so personal satisfaction it is. And it's fun. Fun. Lots of fun. And hard work, for pretty much nothing in return. Wait, that sounds familiar, motherhood anyone?
As I was laying in bed last night trying desperately to fall asleep (three cups of coffee anyone?) I had a really great "plot twist" idea. And then I fell asleep and forgot it completely. It's going to nag me all day until I remember. Maybe if I can remember I can get back to work.
And besides the 'personal satisfaction' I can now become one of those obnoxious people who can say, "hey, I wrote a book." Because, published or unpublished it's true...sorta.
