The past week or more I have intended to write every day. I have taken a notebook with me, I have logged in to my blog. I have had every intention of writing. And then I didn’t.

Things have been stressful lately. A struggle. Every day has been a struggle.

I am not sleeping well. I am, in fact, so stressed that my right trapezius muscle is so tight that my doctor could see the tightness as soon as I turned around. But it’s also been too hectic to book a massage. The receptionist kept saying “Tuesday?” after telling me they were booked on Monday, and “Tuesday?” after telling me they were booked on Wednesday.

I can’t do Tuesday.

(I actually remember after that phone call that I couldn’t do Wednesday either, but I’ve also been forgetting things).

I think part of the reason I’m exhausted and stressed is because I have been so busy and also in pain and I haven’t gone to the gym in a week. Also the sun hasn’t appeared in what seems like forever, and today was on -2 but it felt a lot colder. Deep dark winter cold.

I’ve had some successes, I’ve had some interesting conversations, I’ve had some troubles and made some mistakes. But every night I have come home and not written anything, despite meaning to every day.

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