Daily writing for the win.

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Photo by Hutomo Abrianto on Unsplash

Today I am feeling all sorts of ennui. This feeling of nearly-drowsy languor is sapping whatever energy I had to begin the day.

We are back from the mountains, and I am spending the day “working” at the Russian store. We had one sale in the store today. One.

My troubled high-altitude breathing has returned to normal breathing, as, unfortunately, has my appetite. I just finished one of the books I am reading, and am loath to start another, fearing that no matter how good the book is, it might still put me to sleep.

In part I attribute this attitude to the lack of exercise. Not that I didn’t walk around plenty in Breckenridge, although by the end of our stay, it was an absurdly slow walk. But I miss my regular work outs, miss lifting weights, miss feeling the pleasant ache of tired muscles, miss my Body Defense class (martial arts by any other name would sweat as well — set to loud music). No wonder all I want to do is wrap myself up in a blanket and sleep. But the temperature is in the mid-80s, so that would be a silly thing to do.

Perhaps it is the heat that is also draining my energy. Heat has never been a friend to my body nor psyche, and it’s the end of September. To me, it’s not right that it’s still this hot. Considering that some parts of the country are already being covered by feet of snow (good luck digging out, northern Montana. I am jealous as hell), Denver is stuck in this crazy Indian Summer, or as I call it, “the summer that never ends.” I know, I know. This, too, shall pass. I check the Weather Channel app, and see that after Tuesday, the highs will be in the 60s and 70s (except for one day at the end of this week). That’s about normal for this time of year.

Sure, my feelings of stupor could be any one of a combination of the above reasons. I want to do nothing, just sleep and sleep, with maybe a few hours of TV watching thrown in there. I am not the world’s most productive … anything, but there is a limit to my non-working. I need to write. I have to write, it’s an almost biological urge, and one that I cannot, nor will not, suppress for too long. Even if I write a snippet in my journal, or an idea for a conversation or argument, I write daily. Along with the desire to do nothing today resides my desire to write every day, and that second desire wins, every time. So, I make myself sit here, today, and write, even if it is short, even if it is not profound.

I feel better writing, and I also have used my time at the store wisely and productively! I still have about 30 minutes to go until I close the store, go home, prepare for a High Holidays dinner at my parents’ house. You know, I think I will open the new book, after all. I take a deep pull of cold water I had the foresight to bring with me, and begin the book.

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