I love a rainy day

Rainy, gloomy, cold, windy. It's winter and this weather matches my frame of mind. I've noticed lately that when the weather shifts and we get an unseasonable day that brings sun and a warm breeze that I feel a little panicky. What a crazy response. But when I dissect it and try to understand the response, I think it's all about this purgatory I'm in, between being successfully engaged and a disappointing deadbeat.  A rainy day doesn't put pressure on me to be happy, to have my long list of "shoulds" done. It temps me to lay on the couch all day and watch a decorating show (which I never do frankly because, guilt).

There's also a positive side to rainy or snowy stay-inside days. Like the stillness that comes with them. The comfort of holing up inside a warm, safe house. It's like being incubated. No need to venture into the twisty, sharp-edged, vivid world. Just stay inside. Stay in your soft clothes. Comfy cozy.

Yep. And lame.

Fine if I've had an amazingly productive week. A respite inside a cozy day is great then. But I'm in a weird transitional place where I don't quite know which direction to launch in. And a stay-inside day only helps me hide from the feeling that I lack progress.

My better half says I'm being too hard on myself. Because he's loving and kind and he wants to see me be successful. I am not great at being patient, with myself or anything else, so while his words are a tempting siren song...they don't do the job of completely letting myself off the hook. There's always a bit of expectation in the encouragement, and that's what I wire into.  "ZAP!" Get over it. "ZAP!" You're fine. "ZAP!" You are going to do amazing things. "ZAP!" OMG I am failing because I'm not moving forward fast enough!!!!!

Today is cold. Snowy rainy stuff falling from the gray sky. And here I sit in a Panera (free wifi) working on my client project, feeling like a gloomy failure-to-fully-launch, and trying trying trying to scratch and claw my way out of purgatory.

If I wanna be a writer, how come I'm not writing?

My knuckle is healing. Finally. I can now type with both hands and all 10 of my digits fairly well.

Being in a cast put a huge damper on my interest in writing. And writing with a pen on paper, which used to be my favorite thing and I could easily do because I'm left handed, is just too slow and sloppy and far too easy to cheat on.

Now I'm out of excuses to write (type) and I'm finding that I have to force myself to do it.

When I drive around in my vehicle (which is my preferred place to think - I guess because it's both passive and active, so I can focus and yet not be stagnant) and I think about what I want to do with this next phase of my life, I keep coming back to writing. Being an author. A real one. So I'm edging closer and closer to this idea of creating something written. Something real. A book.

Why is this so difficult? If I want it so bad, why am I putting it off with every available excuse?

Writing offers me all the things I want: flexibility and freedom, a creative outlet, and use of my talent. It might actually offer me a source of income too, if in fact I can count on writing being a talent.

1,000 words is a ton of words. I checked it out. Writing assignments are really what I need. Like, on a set schedule. And getting up early to write might be the best option for me...less distractions and a nice healthy dose of pressure to get the words down before the littles rouse for breakfast. Plus I'm pretty clear headed in the morning.

So instead of writing about writing, I will write. Present tense. I am writing a book. Piece by 1,000 word piece.