Someone asked me yesterday whether I get writer’s block. Generally, I do not. What I get is book fatigue.
Like right now, I’m fatigued. The goal is to write at least 1,000 words per day, because the damn thing is due at year’s end, but I feel like watching a movie, or Googling Emmanuel Lewis, or taking a long walk. I’m beaten up and beaten down; sick and tired of 1 1/2 years of a singular topic but also addicted and absorbed by the singular topic.
I’m sick of coffee shops.
I’m sick of coffee shop cell phone talkers.
I’m sick of lugging around three big bags of notes and books.
I’m sick of getting my masters degree while doing this.
I’m sick of writing about sports.
I’m sick of working late at night.
I’m sick of working late at night, but really watching Entourage re-runs because I lack focus.
I’m sick of the Internet.
I need the Internet.
I’m sick of the Internet.
I need the Internet.
Mom?
