I finally get to sit down and write. There's a sense of earning this moment tonight. The day was filled with activities I'd rather not list here. I've promised myself these ten minutes to just write all day. So, what do I write about? There is no prompt yet and perhaps there won't be for a while. The organiser of the Boot Camp isn't well. To me that just sounds so much like my life. Whenever I endeavour to make some change, begin a new project, or whatever it might be, there is always some kind of opposition. For Kai it's been this sickness. But for me, whenever I do get such opposition, I've learnt to see it as a sign that what I'm doing is important.

For a long time I used to simply lay down my urge or idea and get on with life or face the battle, whatever it might be. But as life went on and I began to push through moments when I could get an article down, or a short story, poem or novel written, and I saw the reward and response from others; that was when I saw the obstacles as opposition and not just inconveniences. I saw the problems as my adversaries and went into battle mode. This attitude changed everything. I could only be getting all this flack if what I was doing meant something. I'm meant to write and I must face the fact that something out there does not want me to achieve success.

I learnt to identify other signs, too. That sense of dread I felt at attending some meeting or event. I learnt that meant I was actually going to have a really good time. If I didn't get that clawing, stomach-churning sensation, the night usually turned out to be mediocre. Usually whatever emotion I'm going through it is because the opposite is about to present itself as the truth. I'm not sure I'm making sense, here. The time to write is dwindling away. Perhaps this is just thinking out loud and I need to find a tool to take me deeper with these thoughts.

For me, to write about the same things again and again is one way to find answers. I used to despair that my life was filled with so many dull moments, so many events that were the same every day. But I've learnt to use this as a tool to dig into my life and find fresh meaning in those moments. In my other online journal I have written endlessly about the morning skies, the depression I have faced and other events in my life. The act of writing about them takes me to a different level when I work and work at the same themes. It forces me to look with fresh eyes. It commands my attention to look into intricate details rather than to brush over, which I think most of us tend to do most of the time. I want my writing to be meaty, to thrust into the heart of the matter. I want to confront and debate over the right and wrong of issues, just to myself, to find out what I really think and why.

The time has dwindled. I'm left with mere moments before I need to go collect hubby from work. It is late, nearly quarter to ten at night. The rain has continued all day. I've written about that again and again, too, as the days face me with gun-metal grey clouds and the sound of water spattering my windows. I must face how to go on each day with joy and a determined step. I must get on with this writing life, but I wouldn't have it any other way. It's not only the rewards that drive me. The process itself is the reward. Better go get my man.