And yes, I know I’ve skipped a blog post this past week, on the 25th. I keep meaning to make it up. I keep meaning to do a lot of things.
Bits and pieces of progress today — some laundry done and folded, (and had Bridget put hers away) another double-sided knitting block halfway through. No writing. Didn’t even go outside.
I am tired.
Been trying to think of what I have learned by doing this blogging project. I’ve tried not to be repetitive, tried to be aware of it happening and stop patterns from reoccurring. Tried to be creative until I had no more energy to be creative. I’ve learned it’s definitely draining to try to be all things at once, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting that.
In five days, this project will be over. No shortage of ideas for the next online endeavour, of course. Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment. I just like writing, whether it’s fiction or non. And if you’ve been reading along all year (as I know a few of you have, eh, Tar? Eh?), I cannot express my appreciation enough. I do wish what I had written had been more useful, generally speaking. But on the other hand, I’ve sent into the void a part of my own experience and story. And nobody’s story is ever insignificant. At least, so says the Doctor.