I had hoped to get 5,000 words by the end of the weekend, but at 3279, I'm fried. Sunday mornings are my stress day at work (I'm a minister) and I think I will have to have a contigency plan for Sundays in case I just need to decompress.
I'm also feeling the drudge of - what's the point? This is an occupational hazard - being a theologian means you think the snot out of everything. And I get caught in the existential no-win loop of - why write, anyway? Unless you're Margaret Atwood and you're writing the Handmaid's tale, what effect for good will you have anyway?
YES I believe in the power of art and the importance of story and god knows if I could have nothing else for the rest of my life I'd want my library and water and maybe a tootsie roll or two but the POINT is that - I'm just tired and grumpy and ill and feel like crap.
Back when I can pull off a positive attitude. :) 'Night, folks!