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I didn’t work on my own writing today…but I was a writer today. I went to San Francisco with a friend and saw a play. A real play in a small theater…with real actors but no mics…with intermission drinks but no fancy sets. It prompted feelings of inspiration and discomfort. Inspiration to see the creative spark manifested in something different…discomfort because it is something different. I’ve seen plays before, but today was the first time I really attended one as a writer. I asked myself, “Could I do this…write a play?” I don’t know the answer. There may never need be an answer, but I think it’s important for a writer to think about their breadth and test their abilities.

Today also marks the end of my winter break. Tomorrow I return to work. Though it will be a shock to the system to wake up at 5:30 am, find appropriate office attire, pack a lunch, then make my way through emails and forgotten priorities, it might be just what I need. Today I’m feeling even more hollow than yesterday…a sense of “what’s the point?” Nothing in life is for certain…except there are too many sweets in the house, I haven’t exercised for way too long, and I’m more addicted to social media than I was before vacation. I’m what my mother-in-law calls, “dissipated.”