Day two of vacation. I’m already losing it. I got restless yesterday but never made it out of the house. I did do some writing, amazingly enough. Jumped back in to a story started some time in June and untouched since early July. I no longer know what I meant to do with it, but I know what I’m doing with it now. The second thing I wanted to try to finish off this week was an essay started in August about Jack Spicer. That one’s a little harder to pick up. I never made any notes on where I was going with that one. Oh well. Non-fiction of any kind is my weakest point, so I’m not the least upset about that.
But. I’m even more restless today. Heading out to meet friends for lunch soon and then? Must do something that isn’t sitting here. I need to move, stimulate my brain and body, walk, think, take pictures. Something. I’m happy to have this problem in place of being at work, though.