When I get going, I can maintain momentum for a good two or three hours. Getting going requires lots of chemicals, time, and environmental changes. I’ve searched for shortcuts to getting going, but they evade me.

I can stop and think: do this. It really doesn’t matter if I have fifteen available minutes or five hours. I’m always expecting an interruption. I can’t ignore the possibility of interruptions. Expecting them brings anxiety. Anticipating them cause inaction. When they don’t come, I wonder why.

I realize that I do need time to do nothing. I must relax and allow it, but it seems necessary to schedule doing nothing. I also need time to dawdle, to fiddle around, and to tinker. Those alone can take time away from my real projects, ones that need the serious attention I seem to have lost somewhere between finishing grad school and having a child.

I’ve also considered chucking it all and giving up on my dreams. It seems that was the norm of the generation my parents lived in. I rebelled against that idea and don’t want to raise the white flag yet. I’m not young and I’m not old. I don’t have the energy to pursue new interests like I used to. I chip away like the prisoner with the spoon digging the thick concrete cell walls.

Perhaps I’ll see daylight one day.

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