Sick of Myself

I'm kinda in the weeds right now. 

The problem is not a lack of work. Oh, no, not at all. The problem is getting out of my own way and actually doing the work. 

Very little has gotten done so far in this calendar year of 2016. There are external forces at work, of course. Family stuff, personal stuff, things you don't want to hear about and I don't particularly want to discuss.

I'm not interested in assigning blame. It would be easy to do so, to make my first blog post in 2 and 1/2 months be a mea culpa on my part. Who needs it?

The question, the only question, is how to get out of this rut. The answer is, of course, to shut up, buckle down, and do the work. You know this, I know this.

The problem is: Inspiration doesn't last. 

At nine o'clock in the morning, I'm at my most awake and alert, running on all cylinders, full of energy and ideas. I'm also at my day job, where I can't work on any of those ideas beyond taking notes. 

By five o'clock at night, however, I'm a frog in a freezer. I'm just not as fast as I was earlier in the day. I need to find a way to move that inspiration to a point where I can use it. 

In his book The War of Art, Steven Pressfield talks about Resistance.  

As powerful as is our soul's call to realization, so potent are the forces of Resistance arrayed against it. Resistance is faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, harder to kick than crack cocaine. We're not alone if we've been mown down by Resistance; millions of good men and women have bitten the dust before us. And here's the biggest bitch: we don't even know what hit us. I never did. From age twenty-four to thirty-two, Resistance kicked my ass from East Coast to West and back again thirteen times and I never even knew it existed. I looked everywhere for the enemy and failed to see it right in front of my face.

I've read that book several times in my life, and every time I do, it gives me a shock of energy, a desire to defeat Resistance.

But here we are.  And maybe here's a good place to be, really. Maybe I should start posting word counts and chapters recorded. Maybe I should do what the title of this page says and talk and write, defrag my headbone some. I know I feel better for having written this.

I'm not going to make any promises; they're too easy to break. I'm just going to say that I'm trying, and hopefully you'll see more from me in this space soon, more of my writing, more of my voice.

It's time to do the work.