Last night I was zombie-tired. Shannon suggested that she pour me into bed and I could just go to sleep.
“Can’t. Need my fix.” Shannon smiled indulgently and let me write for an hour before pulling my plug.
Today I realized that I’ve been writing through lunch, every lunch, all week. I’ve been going to lunch earlier the past couple days, so I could get to it sooner. Tomorrow, I think, I’ll give me a long lunch (or a coffee shop morning before work).
Tonight Shannon called for bedtime. I looked speculatively at the computer I’d been fiddling with for two hours. “I think I can stop. I’m pretty sure.”
Not “I have to write.” Not “I should probably write.” Not “I still have a quota to do.”
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry