I turn around and a week has passed and I'm not writing - or I have not written? - and I realize that all of this is still sort of a work in progress, that I'm a work in progress... and really, that's okay. At least to me. It's the holiday season, work is stressful and occasionally overwhelming, and it's not entirely going the way I would like.... but what does.
Plus, I didn't win Powerball (a good reminder about my essential distaste for gambling), we had a big Thanksgiving Second Dinner (because we got a free turkey from a local grocery store), and life... well, life intervened.
Thesedays, I ask myself a lot about commitment, about time commitement, about what this dream of writing is and how I ever hope to see it become more than a delicious hobby... and well, I just don't know. Not knowing, starts and fits... that's life, for me, these days.
So days go by, I consider my options, and then I get up and get back on with it. What else, really, is there to do?