I've been away longer than I expected.
When I finished the 40-day writing game, I intended to take a week off from writing, and I did.
The next week required a ton of cleaning in order to prepare my apartment for giving back, which we did. I had vague thoughts of writing, but they quickly gave way to the needs of reality.
My apartment is gone now. It's not mine anymore. That project was all-consuming for a week, but it's done. It was weird for a couple of days to think that I didn't have any reason to go there anymore. I'm past that now. I never hold onto the past long. It seems ages ago, not a few days ago.
I don't know what to do next. What to do now. I felt more pressure to write at the beginning of the week, but it's faded. Which means I need to make some words happen, or I'll lose it entirely.
I really don't know what happens now. What do I do? What do I want to do? Big old questions. Uncomfortable ones. The obvious answers are terrifying: find work. Build a new life. Terrifying and enormous, far too large to manage.
I don't know what to do. I have a clear afternoon, and I have no idea what to do with it.