Day Job

No creative energy whatsoever last night as I returned from work. Just a glass of wine and my favorite show, that’s all I had in me. I loathe evenings like these. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy diving into the delicious fantasy world of Reign, but I prefer doing it with my eyes open and not half closed after a day of phone calls, numbers and repetition. At least the human element always keeps me afloat, so there’s a good note for you in case you’ve been wondering if I wanted to moan. I don’t. I am grateful for the work, but I miss my pen and paper, the creative outlet I got to enjoy last month. It’s hard to return to my desk now for nine hours or ten sometimes without getting anything worthwhile done. That’s how it feels, like a detox from a sugar high that’s lasted much longer than Christmas. I’ll find my footing again, I’m sure I will. So far I always have, only this time I’m not willing to bid the writer farewell in order to function. I know by now that without my pen I merely survive and that’s not enough, not every day.