Journal

Restless

I hate this feeling.

I’ve known for a while now that I need to start moving. Not with transition. That’s underway. Hormones and whatnot are happening.

No, I mean with other real life things. I need to start writing for myself again, and I need to move forward with some other money-making stuff I’ve been putting off.

Well, in fairness, “putting off” isn’t really the right phrase. The last 12 months have been jam-fucking-packed. I’ve been overloaded. I haven’t been delaying, but I’ve been delayed.

Look at that word-play. That’s a thing of beauty, right there. Behold! Are you beholding? I feel like you’re not beholding.

Whatever. Point is, I need to get to it. I have good things I could be doing that I’m not yet doing and I need to, you know, DO THEM. One such thing is writing. I need to be writing. Here, but also a book project I have in mind.

Oh, and I need to seek out a publisher for my other book projects. Like, the ones I already have written. THOSE books.

Yes, plural. Don’t look so surprised. I feel like you’d be less surprised if you had beheld like I asked you to.

I asked nicely.

Okay. So. Things to do. Find a publisher. To do that, I need to find out how people find publishers. No idea. And write. To do that, I need to … do what I’m doing right now? I guess so.

So, does that count? Am I doing one of the things? I think I am.

You know what that means? I’m already kicking ass. BEHOLD!

(I know you’re still not beholding. We’re going to work on that.)

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