At this point, I’d like to work on my Thanksgiving menu, or play scrabble, or start painting my bathroom. But nooooo, must re-emerge into writing zone. I walked out of my apartment building feeling very awkward. It just felt uncomfortable, heading out into the night (it’s getting dark so early!) to sit in a cafe and write. A week ago or so it felt like the most normal thing in the world. But tonight, I just have things pulling me in different directions. Not until the last 5 minutes did it feel like a perfectly OK thing to be doing. I’m not sure where these feelings of comfort or discomfort come from. So yet another lesson that you just need to keep putting words after each other to start. Because if you don’t start, how will you get it done?