Summer is coming up. I’m not exactly sure that I’m excited about it. I’ve always been a bit up and down about summer. Not in a cheeky way that implies bouncing and therefore enthusiasm. But in a, sometimes it represents something I have been looking forward to, and other times it was just blah.
This year, I don’t know. I’ll be busier. But then, that is probably for the best.
Lately, I start my days the same way. I wake up, decide that I would rather be asleep, and then get up and shower. I always have a song stuck in my head, usually one that wormed its way in and kept me awake the previous night. It starts back up as soon as I’m conscious, but never seems to have influenced my dreams.
Then I worry about what I’m going to write in my 750 Words session. I have taken to using it for journalling, in the purest sense of the word. Stream of consciousness, fussing, or gushing out an idea that I do not want to share later. Stuff. But I always start the day and precede my writing sessions wanting to use them to be productive.
To write a blog post, like I did today, or to start or continue a story. I have been analysing my writing efforts lately, and found that most of what I’ve come up with is either too big or just unappetising. I keep looking for something else to begin. I’m not sure what it is, and I know that I do not like it at all.
But that’s the way things are sometimes. I was looking at my art folder the other day, and I realised that I haven’t been drawing nearly as much as I used to. Not at all, really. It feels like a lot of things I love to do and used to do a lot have just left me.
It’s lonely without myself.
Sigh. This is too gloomy. I’ll perk up later and probably rant about the use of umbrellas in zombie romance or somesuch total nonsense.