The funny thing about inertia is how it has its own momentum. You put something off, the delay gains weight. Put it off longer and longer, the weight grows and grows. At some point, you’ve got this huge snowball of inactivity, piling on layers and layers of dullness, lethargy, sluggishness and guilt.
All of this is exactly how I feel about writing at the moment. The last several days have been so ridiculously busy, that whenever I’ve had the time to actually write, I no longer have the energy. Apparently, however, no matter how fatigued we get, there’s always enough energy for the omnipresent guilt (a snowball that keeps perpetually rolling of its own, er, steam).
The only thing that can be done is to do something—anything—different. Just to get one outside of the snowball’s rut. Of course, the best thing to do would be the dreaded task, but sometimes this can be impossible (existentially speaking).
So this is me, actually doing the dreaded, almost existentially impossible task.
What do you know. I feel better already.