just to be.

Still confused and struggling, as usual. It feels a little different these past couple weeks, since I set out on an epic writing project that thwarts me at nearly every turn.

Emotional moments from today: frustration at the lack of spontaneous expression in my work. My art wings are still so small. I don't have my own voice with it. Writing is good, but it doesn't feel expressive. I imagine that dancing or playing music (or painting) could scratch that itch, but-- Actually, stompy dancing would do quite nice. Good thing I'm my own downstairs neighbor.

Neat trick how explaining something in a poetic way offers a solution.

Other emotional moment: frustration at my inability to turn off the recording device in my brain. Not the one that makes memories, but the one that takes not on what I see and hear and processes it into something more. I needed to relax, but books made me think about writing, and music made me think about drawing, and I just needed to let go.

Speaking of letting go, I crunched some numbers and reorganized my database of writing goals. I'm giving myself Saturday off. It means bumping my wordcount the other 6 days from 2800 to 3250, but I think it's wise to give myself a day off. Writing won't be verboten on Saturdays, just not required.

I've taken to writing 400 words at a time using Write or Die. The desktop edition is nice because it has a word meter and a time meter stacked on top of each other so it's easy to see how words-written compares to time-left. In the New System, 3250 words = 8 "sessions". That's pretty much my workday. I should probably start spending the other 30 minutes each work hour doing other, you know, writing. Or reading.

Instead, this past week I spent those in-between times watching the fantastic second season of In Treatment.

But come Monday another weekend of performances will be behind me, and I'll start setting my alarm for 9:30, and we'll see how things go from there.