I began the day at 830am when I awoke and lay sleepily in bed, promising myself that today would be the day I'd defy my bad habits and work a full day entirely self-motivated at home. Obviously I was lying. I lie to myself a lot, but never believably. These crappy habits I've got to break are so deeply embedded in my core that I can never quite convince myself I can do anything. It's unfortunate because a. when I do do something (HA dodo) it feels amazing and b. in my current relationship it is imperative that I overcome bad habit like now.

Anyways. Starting out pessimistic. Strong show chlo.

Ok, ok, so I did let in the plumber, who was sweet and effective. Then a vacuumed, showered, made tea, read a litany of accounts on the great gawker meltdown of 2015, then watched stand up comedy clips, cleaned the litter box, washed dishes, played with my cat, anything but writing the assignments which I pitched and do technically want to write.

I do love writing. I don't love typing. It feels slow and unnatural. I only realized this recently when I had to type ten densely worded pages of bland corporate jargon as a favor for someone I don't particularly like.

But. The positive. Yesterday a rather intimate piece of mine was published to overwhelming approval and squees. People said I gave them goosebumps and praised me and that was awesome. I basked in it all day.

The problem with writing or anything really is that even if you do a really good job of it, the next day you have to get up and do it again.

Repetition is a form of torture and a fundamental part of life.

Debating what piece of my pitches to write next. The dating article update? Factual, low creative tax, and my bosses asked me to. Or the scathing (BUT NOT MEAN BECAUSE god fucking forbid I write anything flat out critical) of Demi Lovato's inane new song of feigned bisexuality and unfortunate metaphor.

Why is offended indignation the preferred reason for criticism? I am marginally offended (if I must use the word offended which I never do) but disdain, dismay, loud eye rolling, all those would be more accurate. My feelings aren't hurt. I just think it's crap.

Emotion requires more angst than analysis but less research.

Hmmm.

Is this 200 words yet?

I wrote 250 words about recent thoughts and my future. Felt good.