As summer winds down, I can finally take a breath, and when I do it is the humity of Houston I breathe in, at last. Two weeks in Michigan, a week in California and what feels like every weekend since April in Galveston have taken a toll on my writing and my need for routine. (When the plane landed last night and they opened the door, the heat was so intense that it rushed to the back of the plane like a fireball, or a puppy who couldn't wait to leap on us to welcome us home.)
But why, when I crave routine so much, do I find it so boring?!
Up at dawn this morning, yoga and journalling complete, the choices now are the book, the files, the ever present files or the gym. I've convinced myself that competition is good for me, so I'll enter some fiction contests again, and am picking out 5k's to train for. I know, 5k isn't much of a goal, but it is a good start, and manageable, the way a short story can be when compared to a novel.
Or there is coffee. None in the house, and the call of starbucks is getting stronger each moment...
And having fallen in love with both California and Michigan again, it is important that I distract myself with something, or the longing will, as falling in love has taught me over and over, turn to depression, then an attempt to fix it, and ultimately, loss. I'm finished with all that for now.
No comments:
Post a Comment