I have a new enemy which I thought I would make brief mention of. I call him Bastard Inertia.
A short definition of inertia is: “Noun – feeling of unwillingness to do anything.” Although I prefer the original Physics definition of “property by which a body remains still or continues to move unless a force is applied to it”.
I am getting alot of special inertia – Bastard Inertia – which every day prevents me from jumping straight into writing my Sex.com book. It is a strange feeling. I am itching to get writing and yet something – some-thing – stops me from just sitting down and typing.
I have attempted to intellectualise this every time and offered myself a variety of explanations from the physical (tired, hungover, hungry) to the mental (fear, laziness, a sense of unpreparedness) to the pseudo-philosophical (too boring to go into detail over).
And yet, once I have finally dragged myself down into typing, after an awful first five or ten minutes, followed by a haphazard 20 minutes, suddenly it all comes together and the next thing I know, things are getting in the way – phonecalls, meals, previous arrangements.
And every single time, every time (thereby undermining by deeply held belief that I might actually be able to learn from personal experiences), I am then angry with myself for spending however long I spent earlier that day *not* writing because of Bastard Inertia.
It's like cigarettes. It takes years and years to realise that no matter what angle you approach it from, that “one” cigarette just for fun will soon extend in another one, and within a week, you're buying a packet of 20.
You simply have to formulate an unbreakable rule that says: “You will not smoke.” And then build up enough psychic sandbags behind it to prevent the idea seeping through.
I have to build another rule that says simply: “Get up, sit down, and write.”
This blog post, in case you hadn't noticed, is a sandbag behind it.