I am exhausted. Every moment I was pushed into doing something else, every paragraph I was pulled away from what I wanted to complete. There is a board game, two short stories, a novel, and two works to edit sitting in front of me, and after painfully editing two pages, I wanted to watch TV. It was only 8pm (though 10pm by central standards). I wanted to quit.
Then I listened to a song by Krewella, a story of sisters who fought, sweat, bled for what they wanted. I saw a picture of one of the girls behind her table, sweating, hand in the air, and she looked exhausted. But she did it, and she visibly wears herself down in front of her fans. I get to shower after binge writing to go see the public.
The short of it is I realized I need to sack up. I need to get crap done. And I edited another five pages. So fuck you doubt, laziness, and the little voice saying I can’t do it. I’m sacking up and getting shit down, and you can shove those two edited pages up your ass, because I over doubled that shit.
Hope you’re getting shit done and making dreams your bitch. I’m off to get at least three more pages done.