Yesterday I flat out ran out of energy. I finished up my non-writing work and sat down to work on some edits and had nothing to give. A lot of times, I sit down to work on writing when my body would rather be outside or my mind would rather be passively entertained by a novel or TV, but once I get into my own work, I'm happy to be there. Nope. Not yesterday.
So I did the smart thing: I took the day off and recharged. I roamed around the house aimlessly for a while, watched a Dolly Parton movie (yep, you read that right—in my defense, it was cute and mindless), read the opening couple of pages to Kushiel's Chosen, was inspired by a description of nature and finally realized what I needed to do: play in dirt. So several of my neglected houseplants got transplanted into nutrient-rich soil and my cats and I got to stick our hands (or paws) in dirt and mess around outside.
Transplanting plants led to cleaning off a bookcase, which meant then I needed to clean out part of a closet, which led to vacuuming, which led to...
It was a good time for Cody to be at work. I created messes and cleaned them up (mostly), and by the time my usual afternoon workout time arrived, I had enough energy to hit the elliptical machine for twenty sweaty minutes. Top the evening off with visiting with friends, and I feel like my muse is ready to work again. It's a very fine line between knowing if I'm just being lazy or if I really need a day off, and I definitely made the right decision yesterday.
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