3 months since we moved back to Auckland and I got straight back into work, pretty much before I had unpacked. I still have a few paintings to hang, a few bits and pieces of furniture to get but I have mostly settled in. Physically. The mind is restless. Because I am not writing. Not writing what I want to write, when I want to write and how I want to write. I’ve written on my ‘tasks’ list that I have to write. I look at it, remind myself and then get busy with the mundane.

Then I hate myself because I have not written anything. Not even a line.

Of course procrastination is the norm for all writers. I have even blogged about it making it a virtue. LOL. I mean, how many excuses can I have? Studies, have to finish an assignment, have to cook, put the son to bed, send off emails. Do my taxes. I am tired. Not tonight, I have a headache.

Write, I tell myself but I don’t want it to be a chore. I have to enjoy the words, the energy, the flow. Even the lack of words, the inability to express myself and think about ways to do, however frustrating it might be.

I bought myself a notebook at the beginning of the year and have been writing words and thoughts. Shitty poetry. Angry prose turned poetry. No one else reads that but me. This is different. This is out there in the world. I never found that daunting, now I do. A bit.

But hey, look I have written a post about not writing! And it feels good. Maybe I’ll put some other things in here next time. Maybe force myself to write 100 words three times a week. How hard will that be? I tweet more!

Anyway that is it for now.