I’m sitting here, in my office. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning here. I’m a bit tired, but for some reason I find myself unable to settle down.
I’m thinking about books I’ve read, or want to read. Books I’ve written, or want to write. I’m thinking about how hard it can be to find the time to do all the things I want to do. I’m thinking about how much I enjoy all of these things… and you know what? I think I enjoy them that much more because of how hard it can be.
I enjoy the challenge.
I like finding time to work my writing in. I like that it doesn’t come easily. I never really realized it before… at least not consciously. Is that weird?
I guess I feel like I accomplished something when I had to fight to make it work. Hmmm. *sometimes I wonder about me*