I could have sat down and written a nicely-put together entry today. I didn’t. Because I just wrote for thirty days in a row. Cut me a break, I’m tired. Still, as I think about it, I wonder why I feel the need to take a break from expressing myself. I like writing. I’m good at it. I liked doing it for thirty days in a row. Although I must admit I felt an obligation to write every day. I made a promise to myself and to this blog that I would do so. Even though some of my entries would come past the 12:00AM deadline, I still wrote thirty entries for each of the thirty days in June. Some days I didn’t want to. Too tired. Those are the days I cannot even recall what I wrote. But they got published. And there was always a sense of excitement to see what it is I’d come up with that day. And after those thirty days were over, I just wanted to take a break. I wanted to take some time away from myself for just a bit. Is that so wrong? I somehow still think so. Because if I didn’t write something today, I’d be less inclined to pick up where I left off tomorrow. My laziness comes flooding back so easily. So what if instead I just keep going past the arbitrary deadline I put on myself? I wonder what would happen. I guess I’ll find out. Streaks can sometimes feel good, even if they’re something that’s just for you. I’m approaching five years since I quit smoking. I’ll never touch another cigarette. It’s a good streak to have. It’s a good feeling to count up your days and have that experience in your back pocket. So I’m going to try writing every day until it’s time to not. Not sure when that’ll be. Not sure if I even care right now. There’s a lot going on, and it’s just me versus the world. I think I can take her on, though. That epic showdown fight is inevitable at this point. Why get lazy about it when words are my most powerful weapon?

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