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The awareness that I haven’t been writing was a given. What I realized the other day was just what that has meant inside my head. I had formed a habit, and it was one that I wanted, and valued, and when I went back to try to follow the same familiar path, I found it eroded. It’s a strange sensation, remembering how your head felt in the past while experiencing a very different present. If I want that path back again, I’m going to have to clear the bracken, level the grade, lay the gravel and stretch the metaphor in other exciting ways.

I used to be able to write regularly, track the occasions that mattered to me, and amuse myself. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to do at least that much.

The wisdom of “I heard it somewhere” tells me it takes six weeks to build a habit. I have no idea if that’s true, and I suspect that in truth it’s a lot less regular, and it varies depending on the task and the motivation. I am in a completely different place now than I was the last time I did this. I do remember that everything starts with a metapost, though, so at least one thing is still the same.
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