So here I am, the final lap of this writing endeavor. The number of posts left to write had dwindled down to the double digits. I'm so close, I can taste it. And today, I had the biggest desire to just say, "Fuck it."
It happens: some days are really busy for me and, to be frank, if I can't get it done in the morning, it's like hell to get it accomplished. Today was another day-long class session. On my drive back home, I thought about what I had to do once I got home: get started on some of the homework, nurse my pulled hamstring tendon that I got while running way too many miles yesterday (but more on that later), make dinner, and write an entry in this puppy.
And one little thought decided to crawl its way out of the cesspool of suck in the back of my mind and go, "Or, you could just skip it. You got close enough, right?"
The "close enough" attitude loves to rear it's ugly little head during pivotal moments, like when I ran my half marathon ("Woah, ten whole miles! That's a lot! Say, why don't you walk a few? Close enough!") or when I'm writing my third manuscript ("Look at all those words! Over 60,000 words! Why right more? Call it a day!"). Today, it decided to go against this project.
I've said it a million times before, but sometimes it really is a challenge to keep this going. Some days, I am just exhausted -- physically, mentally, emotionally -- and the last thing I want to do is prattle on for a few paragraphs. Sometimes, I get an idea stuck in my head and that day's post is the easiest I've ever done. But that has been happening with less and less frequency.
But hey, here I am, plodding out a post. A post about how I almost didn't write a post, but a post all the same. Because there are few things I hate doing more than abandoning projects. I see things through to the bloody end, if only because I'm too stubborn to know when to quit.
Much like my writing career in general. You'd think after over 200+ rejections from agency directors and literary magazines alike, I'd give it up already. But I keep on keeping on, because slowing down has never been my forte.
And on that note, I'm off to make dinner. Because I swore to myself after we moved to the house that I'd actually Learn How to Adult and make real meals for dinner -- which I've been good about, 9 times out of 10. The other time -- which usually happens if my husband is playing hockey that night and I'll be eating dinner by myself -- involves a lot of potato chips and whatever is in the fridge.