It has happened. I dreaded the day, and now it's here, and I don't know where to turn. I'm lost, I'm alone, I'm helpless, and there isn't a sympathetic or understanding shoulder within 699 miles.
John was right.
He said to me once that writing was something you disciplined yourself to do--each day you have to make up your mind to just sit down and write something, anything, but to do it whether you felt like it or not. He was right. As long as I had a deadline for posting those twelve days of Christmas, I was on the ball. I was there. I was ready. I was willing.
Now, there's no pressure. And there's also no post. I don't have someone standing over me, asking about the next day, so I'm just resting on my proverbial laurels (I'll be darned if I've figured out where they are, though) and doing nothing. John was right. Ugh.