I’m on vacation from work this week and, as usual, I’m staying home for it. I’m not even sure I’d travel if I could, honestly. Usually by the time I hit vacation, I’m so burnt out that I just want to be left alone in more or less absolute solitude for most of that time. Has to do with being introverted, I suppose, this need to refuel and savor the silence.
And this week has been good so far. I’ve been sleeping in, watched the entire final season of Dexter, the new episode of Downton Abbey, and several episodes of Star Trek: Enterprise. Sunday was my lay-in-bed-do-nothing day, except I may have put gas in the car and gotten Panda Express around 9pm, so that’s sort of doing something. Monday, I did five loads of laundry, as well as stopped at the bank (credit union, they were open even though it’s a federal holiday) and the store to pick up some odds and ends. I also did dishes. Today, I went to the grocery store and put washer fluid in the car. It’s getting colder out, so that wasn’t quite as pleasant as it would have been if the temperature was over 20 degrees F.
What I haven’t been doing, however, is writing. I feel nothing quite so severe as dread or anxiety about it, but I’ve been doing anything else at all. I think I could plot out the last couple chapters of Lazarus, which has been on hiatus far too long and I do dishes. I think I could just jot down that scene running through my head so I don’t forget it, but that is quickly followed by after I make hot chocolate and clean my craft room and watch one more episode of Enterprise. I mean, it’s ridiculous. I’m trying not to put stress on myself about it, but I’m stressed. I feel bad that I haven’t been writing for months due to work and depression, but even when I have time or energy, I simply can’t do it.
This isn’t new for me, but I’ve yet to figure out how to combat it. I mean, just sitting down and writing isn’t doing it for me. I sit down. I’m sitting now. Have been for three hours. My notebook is here and I could even find a few pages I just have to type in, no real thinking involved, and yet I’m avoiding it like it’s a jab at the doctor’s office. I usually avoid things that are unpleasant until I have no choice, yes, but this shouldn’t be unpleasant so why am I avoiding it?