It's been almost 2 months since I've written anything. Of course, I've thought about it, but with the move, I think I've lost my "writing space". Mentally anyway. I can obviously write anywhere, but I like having a space to write. If I try to write at work, there's a chance I'll get distracted with actual work. Even if I stay extra hours to use my work computer, there's always something going on in the shop.

At home, it's a different story. Lately, I've been either extremely busy at the new home or too anxious and/or depressed to do anything at all. I have a to-do list for home and every day off I fret over it so much, I don't think I get an actual day off. And, I don't get any of those items done, I just feel guilty trying to rest and not doing them.

The other day my spouse started to help tidy up the house. Over the weeks, the guest room had acquired all the projects I had half started. It was a small disaster. But, it was MY disaster. So, when he started moving things, I became extremely anxious. Anytime he starts doing something in the house that I had seen as my responsibility, I get like this. Like he's pointing out that I wasn't doing well enough. In reality, I'm pretty sure he just had some extra energy, time, and wanted to get stuff done. He offered to help hang our picture wall, or at least the main center image. This opened up the entire project and I might have had a slight breakdown.

Since then, I have not found the will to actually start the project. So it's still undone. Just now nicely put away in our storage unit.

And until now, I also haven't found the desire to write. Until... I read a fiction book and was thoroughly upset with the ending. Like so upset I became semi-depressed and had to take a shower and nap.

Not only did it harp on the tragedy of gay love but I feel like the ending came out of nowhere. Sure not every story needs a happy ending, but it felt out of character for everything they were building. And possibly I had built the relationship up in my head as being something else then it turned into. Though I will admit, I liked the fantasy aspect of the book. That is something I hadn't thought of in a while. Most of the books I read growing up were fantasy or historical fiction. Both of which I've grown away from.

So now I'm thinking about writing fiction again, though I'm not 100% sure where to start. Maybe get back to my monkey-brain writing and just randomly writing different bits from different stories? Who knows.

But I will say, living in a downtown condo has led to a lot of people watching and I love it.