Creator1

I don’t want to write today.

It’s not that I have nothing to write about, I’m just tired. I cannot possibly attempt to write something when I don’t have the care to do so. I couldn’t possibly do that to my characters, dialogue, or plots, they need attention and commitment, not obligation.

Today I worked 15 hours. Sometimes, I just don’t have it in me. Life is difficult and I fear it will continue to get more difficult in the coming years. It’s times like these I lean heavily on the simple things like a run, or planting in my garden with my kids. Small, free, organic things remind me what life is about, that there is something to carry on for, even if I cannot always quantify it. I hope my children don’t work even 12 hour days. ‘Dear incomprehension, it’s thanks to you I’ll be myself, in the end.’

Exhaustion sets in and makes the days and work ahead seem longer. I try to remind myself that things like this are temporary and will pass. I think about people who made it through the Depression or the Dust Bowl and how their reflections on the situation seem almost too lighthearted. They survived and prospered, surely we can as well… I think this does disservice to those who didn’t make it, I wonder just how different their perspective would have been about these events.

I’m left with the words of Scottish playwright Samuel Beckett’s The Unnamable;

“You must go on.

I can’t go on.

I’ll go on.”