is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone.

– Oscar Wilde


Photo credit Jannes Pockele 2009



On Sunday (after an attack of the Fear) I decided to cut myself some slack and do something unrelated to anything I had to do.  I was planning on doing some knitting with a bunch of nice yarn I bought last year and haven’t done anything with, but then I realised my needles are still in storage.  Not insurmountable, but I didn’t fancy spending Sunday climbing over boxes and trying to figure out which was the magic one.  So I made a cake instead.  Just for the sake of celebrating cake.  Here it is:



Woke up this morning with a bad case of the Fear.  It comes on from time to time; more frequently than usual these days with all the upheaval that’s going on.  Signs include biting my fingernails until they bleed, lethargy, flitting between browser tabs looking for the one thing to read that will make me feel better, and a low-down feeling in my gut that there are a million other things I should be doing right now.

The Fear is not conducive to actually doing anything.  When absolutely necessary, I can power through, but that leads to a splitting headache and exhaustion.

Definitely not the right frame of mind for writing, but I did no words yesterday for NaNoWriMo so I really feel like I need to catch up.  There’s no point in being a writer unless I’m going to put words on paper on a regular basis.  And I know myself too well; if I start to slip, a day or two off will quickly turn into “that thing I used to do”.