It’s my own fault that I had to work last weekend [Caesura]. I had plenty of time. I had all the data. The task was well within my capacity.
I. could. not. start.
As with my horse show nerves*, the anxiety comes beforehand. Once I’m underway, I’m good. The manifestation was different, no dry-heaving, but the theme was the same. Fear of failure? Fear of success? Fear of getting off my ass & doing work? No idea.
It’s like this, at least for writing. I’ve been in this field since 1988. I’ve lived through most of the ways the wheels can come off. No amount of self-belief will compensate for the knowledge that shit happens. Shit that is a) bizarre & b) out of my control.
I finally got moving with a gentle kick in the pants from my ever-supportive spouse. I met the deadline with a professional-grade product.
Exhausting.
Yet, posts come pouring out day after day. This is by far the most non-paid writing I have ever done in my life. I have no explain for that either.
While I was busy being a hot mess, the boys did even less work than usual. I hope to have progress, or at least activity, to report next week.
(*The few times that nerves have bled into riding [April Update, More Mess] have been in non-show situations. Dunno if that means the show ring is my happy place or that the horses I show don’t stress me.)
Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott
Virtual Brush Box 