Another Sunday. The plan was stay inside, watch it rain, and catch up on reading. I did meet my reading goals, but there was no rain and I felt unjustifiably lazy.
Why would I take such a day? All of my days meld together now, lost in job searches and free-writing, trying not to write a novel that more than likely will be ridiculed. Does that stop me from writing around it, occasionally adding a sentence or two to it?
Should it? Damned if I know. But there's a private part of me that feels relieved that my own story would make me this excited...whether I'm justified in that, or not.