I haven’t been writing in my journal as often as I should. I can tell, because I feel more confused than usual and my dreams are busy. I have not been tuned into the messages. I often don’t know what I think until I write it down.
One reason for this lapse is that I’ve fallen out of my up-extremely-early routine. I just get up plain old early nowadays. It is time to push back the alarm time again. Sleep is essential, but so is writing time. I need both and the writing works best first thing in the morning when the house is quiet and my dog feels snuggly.
The other reason is too much of a good thing. I have the world’s most wonderful friends. I keep doing fun things with them instead of enforcing my times to work on writing. It is time to be a responsible mom to myself and make me do my homework before I go out and play.
It frustrates me that I have no choice but to live an examined life. If I don’t pay attention, the depression monster creeps up on me. I have to do the math, all the time, about whether I’ve had enough sleep, enough kicking myself in the butt to get down to work, enough time alone, enough time with friends, not too much food, not too much driving, enough biking, and all the other stuff I’m trying to keep in balance. Journaling, however, is at least more fun than keeping up with the chores.