I’m never good at this blogging thing. Even though they are authentic, the way I write my thoughts down sounds forced. Elementary, compared to how my writer friends string their words together and sew their lives into colorful tapestries of non-fiction prose.

See? Forced.

My body has finally adjusted to west coast time after a week, but I’m still functionally in east coast time for my job. Did I mention I moved? My husband has been chasing his dreams of building wealth for us and making it happen. Since my job allows me to work practically anywhere, why not tag along instead of spending another month doing long distance?

He finally convinced me of doing the millennial dream of living on the road. It was five-years of work, he said, planting seeds in my head. We bought a brand-new RV. I rub my figurative palms together thinking of the many places I could be spending my time writing. Whether it’s the thought of writing with the Colorado Rockies right behind me or the Pacific Ocean in front of me, I am so excited.

But the past two weeks, I haven’t done much writing. I’m in Chapter 10 (out of 21) of the novel that I’m currently working on and haven’t picked it up, save for a moment in Indianapolis. I had my reasons. We had to pack and fit our lives in a Jeep Grand Cherokee, drive out west with a cat and a car-sick dog, and had to make it to LA in five days for a K-Pop concert. We had a very quiet Thanksgiving in a hotel outside of Kansas City, munching on 7-Eleven wings instead of turkey and stuffing. In Colorado, I had to beg my dog to go potty already because she’s been holding it in for 24 hours. My cat just napped the entire time in his carrier as we spent 5 nights in 5 different states. And while my husband was the champion of steering our ship during the cross-country road trip, not much writing was done by me. I did illustrate something though.

Am I the only writer who spends too much time getting excited about writing without doing the actual work? I hope not. I shouldn’t let my imposter syndrome kick in whatsoever.

The RV is not here yet, but I’m not in a hurry. Maybe apart from the dismal free wi-fi that I have to deal with at our extended stay room, I’m enjoying the quiet moments. I haven’t played online games in three weeks, and suffice to say I enjoy not having to worry about K/D or leveling up. Destiny has recently released their 30th Anniversary pack. Usually during a release and when I can’t play, I’m wrecked with anxiety on missing out. But I feel like I’ve calmed down a lot. I’d rather finish my novel than get characters to max light level. I’ll get there (on both accounts) eventually. Maybe it’s just me finally getting my priorities in check.

Maybe it’s also the fact that I may not be able to get back into online gaming anytime soon (because of internet access) and I’m finally coming to terms with it. It’s for the better. I know, it sounds like I have an addiction. Maybe I do. I should spend more time reading and writing anyway.

Right now, as I wait for this book I’m working on to export into PDF, I use my time to create. I revisit my manuscript, and when I feel spent, I draw or design. I have to remind myself that I need to work on my portfolio and finish my manuscript, so I can work on the next novel that’s already trying to itch its way onto paper.

So, what is the point of this blog post? I’m not so sure. I told you I’m never good at this blogging thing. But I’m good at talking about myself. Narcissism.