My front door.
The neighbor's snow plow.
I'm having an agonizing time writing The Book. I spend days at home doing everything but. Then I resent having made plans to go out, even though it's doubtful I would have worked anyway.
I think this awful slog may just be the way it is. Could I lighten up about judging it? Just accept that this is how I work? Then I wouldn't feel awful on top of feeling awful, if you know what I mean.
Hm. Maybe I could feel awe full:
"Wow. Look at the power of your resistance! That is one prize mule!"
Once the mule gets pulling, she pulls with the same power she balks.
Come on, mule. Pull!
But now I have to go out--I'm helping a friend with her annual studio sale.