On Friday night, as I struggled to keep my eyes open and my brain engaged in wakefulness, I realised I couldn't remember the last time I had been free to do as I wanted, and not too tired to do it. Reading before bedtime is not an option when your eyes are forcing themselves shut...
I decided that the next morning I would go for a run for the first time in more weeks than I could remember.
It was painful, and short. But I felt so great afterwards.
Sunday I dedicated to reading (a fiction, for pleasure, how novel) and then in the evening, I went for a walk.
That is not to say that I am suddenly carefree and spritely: I am not. I slept 6 hours last night, and the night before. Hence, why although I decided that on Monday I would resume writing, I ran out of time and was a day late. Restoring the habits which practice makes natural isn't effortless, but I think it's important.
I can feel the joltiness in my writing, I am too unused to writing outside of the restraints of essay structure. But I'm going to do my best, and I'm going to work backwards, and hopefully as I reach the point where I stopped writing, I will get nearer and nearer the fluency I had then.
Most recent purchases:
Never fear; I only ever wear them together when part of a Catholic schoolgirl in Gossip Girl ensemble, which is only rarely (and no, I am not putting a picture of that up on this blog for all to see - if any of you are still out there).