I honestly would love to write a book. But I am realizing just how much I procrastinate writing.
I would love to start each day by writing for an hour or so, but I simply love sleeping in. I love the feel of the bed in the morning so this is what keeps me attached to my pillow every time my alarm clock sounds.
Currently, I am sitting in a Barnes & Noble’s just watching people reading all these great books. Some are classic. Some are gaudy magazines with hot women on the cover. Regardless, all are here to enjoy or maybe reminisce over some past time or try and get out of their lives for just a moment and become someone else.
I would love to write a book that sells to the masses but I can’t seem to summon up the courage. The strength to contemplate is waning in my life and thoughts. So I simply sit and muse on the fact that there are already enough books in the world. Or that, enough has already been said.
But everything within me screams that these doubt-filled thoughts are simply excuses. Excuses that force me to postpone beginning.
I would like to say that I will change. But I am not so sure. I am a creature of habit and changing the way one lives their life takes great courage and stubbornness. And honestly, I am tired. I want to sleep.
and this is what causes me to daze through my life.