Last year, I managed to write every day in December. After which, I stopped writing altogether for months on end. Two steps forward, etc. Nevertheless, it did happen that one time (or those 31 times, depending on how you look at it), so, why should it not happen again?
"You could totally do that again," I said to myself.
"Mmmm. Yeah. I mean, technically, yes, I could," I replied. "But I could also just not do it again, which sounds easier."
"Do you want easy to be the default setting of your life?"
"Kinda. Yeah. Yes."
"Pffft. You want to just lie around watching British period dramas and getting quietly older?"
"I don't like your tone, frankly."
"Look. It's 30 times. You could totally write 30 somethings. That's a thing you could do and then you could lie around watching BBC miniseries afterwards. I'm not suggesting there will be no British television involved."
"You sit down while you're writing so that's almost as good as lying down. And you could have tea while you do it. You like tea."
"So. You in?"
"Okay, okay. I'm in. Pipe down."
I thought this year I might try November instead of December so I would have the (at least imagined) solidarity of all the Nanowrimo people. They're writing a whole book, after all. Then, yesterday, my friend Talya told me she'd signed up for a playwriting class and she has to write a short play or a monologue every day. "I'm already regretting it," she said. She is my kinda girl.
In a moment of folly I told her I'd been thinking of giving myself the month challenge and if she'd commit to a play a day, I'd commit to a something a day too. We'd do it together. Pinky swear.
Then, last night, I got home at 10:30, ate a bowl of bran flakes, sat down on my bed "for just a minute" and promptly fell asleep with all my clothes and the light on. When I woke up disoriented an hour or so later, I had a clearer understanding of why we say "fall" asleep. It was as sudden and deep as a trip over a stone and a headlong tumble into a mine shaft. Upon waking, did I cry out, "Egads! My blog! My promise!" and leap out of bed to type some witty remembrances? No. I summoned enough wherewithal to take of my bra and turn off the lamp.
And that, readers, is how I blew it on day one of thirty.
Now I have to write two things today.
I mean, I'm lazy, sure. But a promise is a promise.