Just wrote for a half hour straight, and it felt like three days. I’ve always imagined writing is kind of like exercising, and you can’t just dive into a marathon, but still. Thirty minutes? That’s it? Jesus, I’m out of shape. Picture me panting in the margins of my page, leaning forward, hands on knees.
Maybe I should try and start running in real life, too. It could be a good reminder that I need to ease into this, that I can’t just expect myself to be amazing from the get-go.
Me, exercise? Ha. Ha ha ha. But I don’t know. Maybe I’ll try. It could maybe be an interesting part of my ‘writing’ routine, to be pushing myself in other ways beyond the pen and paper.