The sad truth is that I did what I wanted to do...and now I can't seem to act on it. I quit my job. I took the summer off to relax and travel and decompress from said job. And I promised myself that I would start writing - that which I had dreams of doing...writing a novel... - on September 1st. This would have been the same date(ish) that I would have been going back to work. And I tried. Sort of. I'd be lying if I said I really tried. I made schedules, I cleaned off my desk, I set up pegboards. Then I make character charts and story outlines and highlighted and made lists of the steps that I would need to take to accomplish my goal. I even set due dates.
And then I didn't follow them. At first I started to. But then I didn't anymore. I'm avoiding. Netflix and my girlfrind have become my favorite (and guilty) distractions.
Am I feeling crushed under the weight of the enormity of the task that I have set for myself?
Am I feeling guilty for not working?
Am I feeling worthless and depressed and confused about why?
Yes, yes, yes and yes. And looking back at my previous post, I've officially been depressed for at least three and a half months. I'm worried.
Aside from the obvious need to kick my own ass and get up off the couch and start writing, what the hell am I going to do?
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