I am struggling to meet the work week with enthusiasm this Monday morning. I didn’t sleep well last night, but that’s been my new normal for a long time now. Part of it was the usual pain and discomfort of the body, but most of it was anxiety over the problems I have yet to overcome and the problems I imagine may be on the horizon.
So, I am dragging myself through work and class, trying to complete tasks and teach others what I know. It’s a tough morning, but the great (and horrible) thing about time is that it is always marching on moving you toward a new state. The morning will end. The calls will end. The day will end and each end brings with a new beginning, a fresh start, another chance.
The good news is that the day should end early and I’ll hopefully have time to spend in my newly—though far from perfectly but much more than before—organized creativity room. I’m looking forward to doing some writing, or some reading, or whatever feels right to do when I get there.
I’m carrying my pocket notebook with me today and I’m excited to use it, though so far no thoughts or ideas worth jotting have occurred, of course. I pulled out my old physical journal yesterday too. I haven’t written in it since January. These entries have taken its place but somehow have never given me quite the same satisfaction.
I suppose it isn’t good to start the exploration stage of any idea in a place you know others will be watching or judging. I do my best to be open and free here, but there is a level of raw emotion I can only achieve in in writing meant for my eyes only.