Home of the Soul Cookie

I’m so far behind on the pace I’d calculated (words/day) for the “November novel” that it’s almost as if I hadn’t started at all.

I keep sitting down and writing a few sentences and then keep letting myself sabotage the effort and get distracted. This is not good. Not good at all.

I’m not a real happy camper right now anyway.

Spent the day in a bit of a disconnected funk. It started out okay (if early – thanks, cats) but I later found myself sitting in the shop thinking about all the people in my life down here, the friends who’ve stood with me through my rebirth these last few years, and dreading the time when I’m going to tell them “Goodbye” and move on to the next stage of my life.

Here’s the horrid part, which I can acknowledge in my more lucid, self-reflective moments: knowing that that transition is somewhat imminent, I’ve been growing distant, trying, I suppose, to reduce my prominence in the “social group.”

Whether I’m trying to protect myself or them I’m not sure.