I have a tablet now (S. has this weird ability to read my mind when it comes to giving me presents).
I love my tablet, lying on the couch in the evening, checking facebook, reading my blogs, idly clicking through the world wide wonder of the web.
I hate writing on it though. Also, I am lazy. So I don't want to get up, connect the laptop, wait until it powers up and Write Stuff. Before I had a tablet (or a job) I would spend lots of time idling on my beloved laptop (I still love you, big black beautiful beast, but I'm not IN love with you anymore). Writing stuff then followed quite naturally, and didn't require much will power. Now Writing Stuff is an actual decision, not something that I accidentally fall into.
I have the same with running. I have a hard time getting prepared and clothed and all and then leave the house to go running. So much easier to lay on the couch with my shiny tablet friend. But if I bring my running stuff to work and then run home, it's not such a hardship to get ready. I love going home. In fact, once I get up to my old self (i.e. the one before Blondie, which is about 45 months ago) I should in fact be faster on foot than on any other form of transport (thank you traffic jams!).
But I miss writing, like I missed running during the past 45 months.
Last week, I finally reached that zone again, the one where my body carries me so naturally I forgot I was running and I was aimlessly wandering around my own mind, thinking leisurely thoughts. If you combine that with a bit of green on the side and a slight breeze while soaking in the view of the sky and the setting sun, it's just pure bliss.
It only lasted a couple of seconds, but the next time I ran, it was there again.
So, I'm going to keep on running.
And I'm going to get back into writing. I know that same zone is hiding in between the letters on my screen. I found it again recently, when I sat in a coffeeshop with my notebook (it took me three hours to actually sit my ass down and open that notebook, mind, so after I had joyously scribbled for ten minutes the phone rang, and the small people on the other side of the line enquired if mama was planning on coming home for dinner?)
So many excuses not to run, not to write. But none of it matters.
As Yoda says: "Do or do not. There is no try."