(Yes, I ran this morning, though it was 17° and dire humidity. Another one point seven or so.)
Yesterday was actually a productive writing day, both in word count and more importantly in breaking up a long, long writer’s block with respect to my James article. I’m hopeful to keep cooking today, and put this baby… whoops, that metaphor was going somewhere inappropriate. I meant, ‘send it off to the editor’, long overdue but out of my hands and head at last.
My great hope as I make a transition to some new vocational configuration involves recovering my capacity to read and write as a rich aspect of my selfhood (rather than a desperate obligation). I do the obligatory reading and writing adequately, perhaps even ‘well’, but it will mean I’m a lot healthier if I just pick up a book and read it, or think ‘Wait a minute, that can’t be right’ and write out an argument that I care about for myself (rather than for an editor).
I can dream, can’t I?