Doing Something

I don’t know what to write here.

Monday morning with heavy rain going on behind me. I sat down, cracked my knuckles, and nothing is coming out. This feels odd, because generally, the idea baked and ready to go by the time I sit down. The hard part is wrapping it up and saying something coherent. Today, there isn’t even an idea.

This is usually the part I quit and start sliding into something else. I recognize it. Steven Pressfield calls it resistance. It works in mysterious ways. It teases you, tells you about yourself, knows your flaws, and knows just how to sit in the background until needed. Most of my life, I would succumb.It is easy, as easy as laying in bed for an extra hour, going to get fast food, or texting random people to get away from the fact that you have nothing.

I hate nothing. I hate confusion. I hate looking at something and knowing not what to do.

With that said, I just realized I have typed almost 200 words. Sitting in the saddle produced this. Even if it means nothing, I did something.