Don't get me wrong. I still want to write books. The world will know Lashuntrice as an author one day. Wait, or Lashuntrice and her close buddies will just know her as an author. Who knows? The author thing is a dream and will always be one. However, I'm not interested in the national writing month where I spit out 50,000 words from this brain. This brain can't take it. Why?
Work is stressful. No matter the work is, it's always stressful. This is because lots of energy is used. Having fun is equally stressful. Fun is supposed to be done for relaxation purposes, but after planning what do to, staying out for a while doing it, and losing sleep fun becomes tiring. Then because writing involves using the mind, it is as exhausting as everything else. I can't do all three at the same time. I'll die from mental exhaustion.
But then again before trying to write, work, and have fun kills me, I'll probably die from sexual depression first. Where's that fine guy with good bed games at? Where is he?
Wait, the biggest reason for not getting involved is because this is not the way my creativity works. When it comes, it comes. When it's not there, I can't force it. Right now the creativity is hiding from me? That could be because of all the hard paying work or the lack of sex.
Anyhow, when I'm ready to write my book it'll happen. It just won't happen in this month of November.
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