I dreamt that I was writing. The words just flowed freely and it felt so natural. I've thought of this often today and made many attempts to compose my thoughts, but something always got in the way. A hungry husband, a dryer buzzing, or a hat needing to be crocheted - they all take priority over some quiet time for me to put my words on (virtual) paper.
It happens every day, day after day. There is always time for so many things, but never writing. Plenty of time to surf Facebook and drink tea, but none for more creative pursuits. I know I have to change my habits, stop thinking about it and start doing it.
But the little voice persists. The voice of doubt, of fear, of apprehension. I have to be stronger than that voice.
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