I'm sick, ladies and gentlemen.
My body feels drained, I've been drinking fluids like they're going out of style and finding things to keep my mind off the things I don't want to think about; such thoughts being brought on by being somewhat idle, considering how difficult it is to sit in front of the computer and produce anything of value.
Well, the motivation went down some, and it's probably just the fluids, or the Nyquil I took last night, or maybe just the fever, but I felt discouraged most of today. I even resorted to watching a movie during a time when I could've been doing the things I had set out to do just days ago. I felt completely defeated and helpless in the face of all those obstacles that have succeeded for years at keeping me from doing the things I've always known I needed to be doing.
It's days like this that make me look at all the information, the resources, the tools available to me to get my writing seriously going somewhere seriously good, and feel complete and absolute fear. The small pile of books I got from the library sits next to my bed, staring me down, daring me to crack them open and get any more overwhelmed than I already feel.
I've exhausted myself in this fight, so much so that I am going to call it a night. But despite the horrible feelings I had all day, I have succeeded in giving myself the strength to go to bed and know that tomorrow will be completely different: a lot more productive.