These impulses come around in waves, the idea that I've been writing this blog long enough, and maybe I should let myself just stop. Usually the urge fades quickly, but only if I let it all wash over me and game out exactly what that would mean for me. I could pretend that I'd change to writing only weekly, but I know that not only would I fail to meet my own deadlines, but the people who read me for entertainment or updates would drop off to nothing. If I quit altogether, I would have a rapid decline in the skill I have developed, of being able to organize my thoughts in print rapidly, editing in real time. I would miss it, and I'd experience the feeling that I had forgotten to do something very important every night before bed. It is very possible that my emotional state would decline, because I really do use this as free therapy sometimes. And inevitably, something major would happen, and I would want to share all the details, and I would have given up my platform, with no one to blame but myself.
So I keep going. Every night, even when I'm tired. Even when I think I have nothing left in the tank. When I'm mad, sick, stressed, or anxious. When I have secrets I'm dying to tell but have to find other inane topics to keep from spilling beans. When I share way, way too much personal information, as if everyone would want to know my entire medical history. If I think I need to rest and take a night or a week off, I know I need to keep going more.
And now, I need to go wrestle an 80 pound shag rug out of the center of the bed. Wish me luck.
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