I wrote on Sunday, which is good. I’m almost finished with the draft of story I’m working on, which is better. But for the last several work days, I haven’t been able to pull myself out of bed to write.
My schedule hasn’t changed. I’m working the same hours, have roughly the same amount of homework, run the same errands that I have been. It’s just that when the alarm has sounded at 7:05 or 7:15, I’ve burrowed back into the blankets instead of jumping (fine, crawling) out of bed, fresh words on my mind. And by the time I get home after working a full day and making sure I have food in the house or not too many library fines or talking myself into a quick workout, I really want to hang out for a while without doing anything that can be checked off a list.
I’m sorry, I know I’m whining. If it’s important to me to finish this story, I should take half an hour of my evening, sit down, and finish the darn thing. My body, for whatever reason, needs a little more sleep, and I should be reworking my schedule to accommodate both hitting the snooze button and getting a few hundred words written. I’m just irked to hit a bump in the schedule that was working so beautifully.