So, I wrote 10 pages in my journal last night and it dried out my brain.  I’m worried that I won’t be able to do the amount of work I’m going to need to do in order to get my current project edited and scarier still, I won’t be able to put the work into the one I’m shopping around when it gets picked up by a publishing house.  Doing blogs doesn’t do it because, though I’m writing, I’m skimming the cream off the top of my brain, the ideas that are easy to reach and discuss.  Last night I was trying to figure out why my body was protesting the idea of getting some sort of bariatic surgery to help me get well.  I had to dig through dust and move through the psychic hoard with a shovel.  Though it wasn’t ‘creative’ that normally burns me out like this, it was work and it made me feel like I’d worked all night long even though it was only a few hours, I got it done.

What is the point of recovering if all I’m going to be able to write is light extemporania and not plumb the depths (okay, shallows) of my vast experiences to write about?  What’s the point of going forward with anything?

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