Grind.

Some days are a grind.

Today was a grind.

I prefer to work in fits and starts.  Long periods of distraction interrupted by small flashes of brilliance.  I do 90% of my work in 5% of the time.

And then there are days like today.  Days I dread.  Days I see coming weeks in advance and do all I can to avoid, postpone, and ignore.

From the time I got home from taking Andi to school (about 6:30am) until now (about 11:00pm) I’ve been grinding.  Pushing.  Wrestling with work that just needs to be done.

It’s the details.  I’m not good at them.  I don’t like them.  And they’re inevitable.

Uggh.

And I’ve been avoiding this particular backlog for many, many months (a special genius I have).  So it’s big.  Huge.  Ginormous.

It mocks me.  Taunts my weakness.  I hate it.

There’s no genius to getting it done.  No moment of triumph to offset the drudge of the grind.  No brilliant, lustrous, magnificent idea on the other side.  And no grand experiment to prove.

And if you know me, you know there is absolutely no motivation to see myself through the grind.  No drive.  No power.  No passion.

For Lauren, the simple act of crossing off each item one by one is joy, itself.  Not me.  Not close.

So I’m bored.

And I have nothing to write tonight.

My mind is numb.  My creativity oppressed.  I feel like a country song.

And no end in sight.  Several days to go.  The curse of procrastination.

(Sigh)

Back to work.  The grind is waiting.

(Heavy sigh)

It’s going to be a long night.

(Long, drawn out, audible sigh… hoping for some pity from Lauren.  Previous sighs apparently not working)