It's Getting Real...

Brent has two more days of work left. TWO.

Yesterday after work he broke down his home office. Took down the big monitor, put the computer stand in the garage for charity, took his personal laptop out and put it in the dining room. He wanted to give me back my space.

Which seems so weird to think, that yeah, technically when COVID hit, the office was my space. My little desk, my window on the world, my writing space. And then when COVID hit we spent a lot of time reconfiguring everything to fit both of us in that small space so he could work and I could write.

When we moved we got a bigger two person desk, bigger office, room for a bigger desk, and basically split it in half. Or sort of in half. I still have more display space around the edges than he does, but the desk itself was split. He had his work set up and his personal computer on his half and I have my computer and gee gaws on my half.

Now it's all mine again.

Which I keep telling him we can still share. That we really always shared a little. He always had room to set up his laptop even in the before times, but I think it's part of his resetting process to just move completely out and then see how he feels about coming back in at all.

But now I'm looking at a big space and wondering what to do with it. Especially if I stop writing like I thought I might.

Although...yeah, did you catch the thought instead of think?

November is right around the corner and as always happens around this time I start thinking about NaNos past. Now NaNoWriMo is no longer, may it rest in piss, but I had broken from the traditional NaNo long before the revelations came so it doesn't change my headspace.

What if, before I decide to hang it all up, I try and see if a massive push changes my mind? What if, now that Brent will be home and our schedule is wide open I dedicate a few hours each day to writing? Or most days at least, I mean Thanksgiving would be out, and I won't be home on the 1st so I wouldn't even be able to start until the second day of November.

Which, of course, makes me think it's a bad idea from the start, if I can't begin at the beginning then maybe I shouldn't begin?

But basically what if I go old school and dedicate November to 50,000 words? Fiction and nonfiction. Poetry and prose. Most days, like MOST days writing.

I'm thinking about it. Maybe what I need isn't a break but a breakthrough? Something to focus on besides the terrors?

I'm not sure but I'm leaning toward the exquisite punishment of a forced 50K march.

Of course, I'll let you know where I come down on it and what arbitrary rules I set for myself.

I'm nothing if not predictable right?