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This One Thing Is Getting In The Way Of My Writing
I had great hopes for my three months leave from my full time job. It would give me the unbounded space I needed to get cracking on the freelance writing side-career (I’m loathe to say ‘hustle’) that I have wanted for so long.
Granted, I had a bunch of domestic-related things to attend to. But they’re pretty much out of the way, or at least under control. Even in the alternate weeks when I have my daughter, there are blocks of time that I can call my own if I make the effort.
This week I’ve been isolating alone at home with Covid so there is virtually nothing making demands on my time.
I feel fine, physically and even mentally. I’ve even started to feel that the autistic burnout that had propelled me into this period of leave has settled down. Even though my executive functioning is a big ragged, I have been able to manage things day-to-day with a full time job removed from the equation.
It’s not lack of time that’s stopping me. It’s not ill-health. It’s not even the environment — at least not in an external sense.
So what the hell is it?
It seems to be a thousand different shapeless, nameless things — nothing I can pin down.
