I don’t know what to write today, but I came here anyway with fourteen minutes to spare in the day, because it’s NaBloPoMo, and it’s a thing I do.
But the thing is, I already wrote almost four thousand words on my novel today even though I didn’t want to do that either.
I encouraged my struggling, grumbling homeschooler to do the easy things she felt like she couldn’t do, because among the many things I need to accomplish, I haven’t figured out how to help her instill confidence in herself yet, and really, how could I when I don’t have much of my own?
I have a huge deadline in a day and a half that I don’t know whether I’ll meet, especially if I keep up with all these other obligations I’ve thrown in here and there throughout them, like a dumbass, because I just can’t say no to people, apparently.
And when I’m stressed and crunched for time, I stress eat, ice cream and chocolate and then I think how ridiculous this is, as I committed myself to tracking things with MyFitnessPal again.
Again, again, because it’s always again.
I don’t know what to write because when I left church yesterday, a place that I’ve just recently begun going to and finding comfort, I find out that dozens of people were shot and killed while sitting in their own church, looking for the same kind of peace that I’m starting to think none of us will ever find.
So I’m not very okay, and I don’t know what to write today, but I’m here.