What I am

For months I had no desire to work on my current writing project. I blamed numerous things-- working too much, laziness, no inspiration. I suppose it was a mix of all.

Not wanting to write was a very different way for me to feel. I was alien, not myself. I didn't even feel like blogging.

Then, something changed. I had to open the next day (which means being at work before 5 a.m.), and I was trying desperately to sleep. But I couldn't because I couldn't stop thinking about this story about a zombie-like outbreak. It's so unlike me... I'm a realism girl.

But the best part? The next day I actually started writing it. And then the day after that I wrote more. And I've written more. Maybe I just needed a break from realism, real life.

It's funny how something so little can have such a big impact. Going to work still isn't great, but it's so much more bearable now, knowing that I can come home and actually get something productive done. To know that I'm not defined by my job, but by what I do on my off time. 

I'm a writer, goddammit.