That is evident in my writing goals this week.
For the first time since starting to track my writing, I didn’t make my daily goal on any of the days. Granted, it was just she each time, but that adds up.
In the end, of my weekly goal of 5 000 words, I wrote only 4 917.
I don’t have my usual photo. I can’t be arsed to take and upload it.
I bad week was bound to happen. I’m surprisingly okay with this. There might be two reasons for this. The first is that, as part of my depression, I can’t find the energy to feel much of anything. I’m blank, empty. There’s just nothing there. The other reason might be that I’ve made some progress with my perfectionism. I mean, I still made progress with the book, and that’s not nothing.
Writing is a marathon, not a sprint.
It takes time.
It’s okay not to hit goals sometimes.
That’s my mantra for this week.
I’m still writing and that’s what counts.
Right, I have to go and get tomorrow’s blog post written.