For the past three days, Friday included, I have been making excuses.

I’m tired.

There’s no time left to do anything today.

I should start off with fresh resolve in the new week, starting Monday.

I had posted my last blog post on Thursday, which also, was my first post since the trip/break, and I had hoped then, to continue where I had left before. Posting something new, pretty much every day. There was to be no limit to what that something could have been: a picture, a thought, a quote, a poem, anything!

Guess it was too much to ask for! Days later, I sit here with nothing to show for it but a poem in the drafts section of the blog. I had the poem to the blog on Friday. I had written it sometime before. Anyways I could not get myself to publish it. There was too much work: a couple of edits, and a picture. Too much work!

I think there’s a better way to categorise my behaviour. I was being lazy. Looking back, at all the three excuses now, I see that they are all really manifestations of the same core issue.

I was being lazy.

More than any thing else, I was being lazy. Add to that, the fact that all discipline goes out the window over the weekends, and you have the perfect losing formula!

One of the fall-outs of the trips that I make is that the discipline, the routine goes out the window. There are no triggers, no structure. There’s nothing that makes things easier for me. That’s what the goal of all the hacks, the routines, is, right? To take redundant, and unimportant decision-making out of the picture, so that you can work with unfettered attention?

Lack of discipline then becomes a real issue, a persistent danger. More often than not, I find myself at this place in time, where I ignore, or fail to see the inevitable. I close my eyes, you know, just like the pigeon before the cat. Even though I know I have some appointments at a future time, I conveniently fail to plan in advance, and have a draft ready.

And, more often than or, later, I find myself unable to sit at the chair, and write.

I am sick of it.

I’ve had enough of it. I’ve had enough of the elaborate plans, the castles in sand. Because, if I don’t write, then there’s no point in calling myself a writer. And I plan on calling myself one.

P.S. No resolutions this time, just a silent determination. Also, I’m getting myself a bicycle today.