I was meant to buckle down and work on that podcast. But alas. All I managed to do was make my self sick with worry over the possible impact (or lack thereof) of my latest masterpiece.
I never could relate with the classic tale of writers block. Person stares at computer, hands poised over the keyboard. Nothing but a white page and the cursor. Ticking. I work myself up into another type of a funk.
Nothing is ever good enough. The start is not hard hitting enough. Why am I doing this again?! Oh gosh. It is truly maddening. I had lots of coffee though. Lots. But nothing else to show for it.
It did help to sleep on it though. At least now I have some kind of a road map. Off road, more like it.