And to dispel that I rather shortly managed to write rather a lot about that particular excuse. Tonight I mentioned it to CK who noted (although I suspect some bias in this opinion) that I always have interesting things to say.
Tonight brings me to excuse Number Two, "I don't want to spend time writing when I'm spending time with someone."
It goes along with the moving away from writing longhand in my journal; it took so much time that AM would fall asleep waiting for me to finish writing or I'd set it aside not wanting to take time away from an evening at CK's. The blog and my ability to type rather quickly puts that one to rest so it shouldn't be a big deal. (**AM did nearly fall asleep on me last night while I was typing...)
But tonight I found myself coming up with reasons not to write, including: I'm not at home (which is to say I'm making a point to differentiate between the property I pay a mortgage on rather than the feeling of Home internally, which is immaterial of property); and I don't have my laptop (CK happens to have two laptops and I have a login on one of them now) . Both of these feed the feeling that my taking a small amount of time to devote to a practice of writing daily is an inappropriate use of my time with someone.
Maybe I feel this especially on nights with CK since there are fewer of those each week. It was as the pleasure of those nights became a part of my weeks that I came up with more reasons to not write. It feels like an imposition that I'd want to use this time for something so solitary when we have time together.
Tonight I made a point to say I wanted a few minutes to do this. CK set up my login and currently lies next to me reading a magazine article. It is rather companionable, I'm pleased to find.
Funny thing is I've always admired the keeping of a journal. Many of the authors I've read, artists I appreciate, or the other people in the world I've found admirable are people who've kept journals. I see how they help organize thoughts and collect the intimate history of daily life.
I've always wanted to be good at keeping one. I've never sustained one longer than a handful of months.
I buy notebooks, start blogs, even from an artistic bent I have a sketchbook only partially filled with images and a mind filled with ideas I talk myself out of committing to media. What's very interesting in this line of thought is how easily the excuses to avoid self-expression in any form arise. How numerous isn't so surprising and I suppose I'm not entirely surprised about the ease after all.