I am having an absolute fuck of a day. I am a little hungover. I have had to deal with emotional trauma that I have largely ignored for years. The excuses are abundant.
It is currently 1:39pm where I live.
I typically write first thing in the morning after everyone in the house goes off to school and my wife is at the office. I do this for a few reasons. The 17 cents I just received from medium isn’t doing me any favors. So I can’t justify spending too much time during working hours on this.
I also want to be a writer. Maybe I am at this point. After all I have been paid for my craft, so I think that technically makes me a writer. One day I will probably make more money if I keep going, but who knows.
I prioritize time to write because I like doing it and I want to do it professionally. I make myself show up whether I want to or not. Moments before I started hammering on the keys I pictured myself driving to the breakfast restaurant where I worked before I started freelancing as a film maker.
I never went to that job wanting to go there. I would go and work for six to twelve hours a day. Many times I wouldn’t get a break. The least I can do is consistently show up for myself and my personal desires.
