It is said that where there is life, there is hope.
But hope for what, exactly?

I don't read much anymore.

I am writing tonight quite drunker than I have been in the past while writing.

I am writing under protest.

The stories continue, but so does life. They don't always get along.

Remember when I was talking about wishing I could just “get in the zone” at will? Yeah, make that double today.

It's funny how differently my brain works dealing with technical work versus creative.

Tonight I am angry, irritable, and probably a bit depressed (big shock). Angry at the world, angry at a slowly failing body and mind, angry at myself for not being able to just suck it up and deal with it.

Phew. I've been running strong on Raiders for a lot longer than I anticipated.

I'm starting to wonder if it's the in-between bits that really make a story.

The new year is almost here and I feel like I should have something clever to say.

My mind is all buzzy right now. Way too much to be creative. It's generally that good sort of anxiety (work aside, which is another story). I've been socializing more, taking more risks, trying some new things. I've gone to strange places and I am planning on trying out a new instrument.

I guess the depression meds are working, which is a plus.

It's been a while since I took a break from the fictional side of things. Inspiration is lacking, though, and I'm tired and just want to go to bed. At least this time I'm not depressed!

Today I am 36 years old.

Depression gets really repetitive.

I almost forgot to write today.

So I think I'm over the honeymoon period of the 5 Minutes a Day project.

I really don't want to write today.