Color me grumpy.
Days when everything aches are annoying. I don’t hurt enough to say I’m suffering, nor do I hurt enough to prevent being active. Nope. Existing hurts, is all. I still could work on any number of things. Low grade pain demolishes concentration and sucks out enjoyment, but I could do whatever I want, should I but put my mind to it.
That’s not why I’m raw umber grumpy, though. It’s the slacker-shaming that gets to me. See, I don’t put my mind to writing when I can’t think well. On days like this I would rather pick up sticks or shop for groceries than sculpt fiction into shape. It seems sensible, but I have learned my choice damns me as an undisciplined loser.
Turns out putting work second is never the right decision — or so says the message sent with each no excuses meme, with every success is hard work post, and all the variations on it isn’t about…
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