Every night around 11 o’clock, I’m hit with a nice glob of anxiety, and it’s all your fault. Yes, you. Don’t look around like I’m talking to someone near you—I’m talking to you. You come around here every day or two looking for a new nugget of joy that you hope I’ve deposited for you here on my blog, and you’re used to leaving unsatisfied every once in a while, but I haven’t posted anything here for over a week. Now you’re resentful. You sit by the computer and wonder why I haven’t posted even a tiny morsel for your hungry brain for several days. Was it something you said? Was it because you didn’t have dinner ready on time last Tuesday? Was it because you applied mustard to my delicious Ball Park frank (they plump when you cook ‘em, you know) when you know damned well I loathe mustard? Wait, why are you blaming yourself? It’s no one’s fault but mine. Yes, you should be making me feel guilty for abandoning you, leaving you out to dry!
And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Motivation can be hard to come by, so whenever or wherever I can get it, I’ll lap it up like a thirsty kitten. I prefer that motivation to write comes in the form of a song, or a movie, or the words of a friend, but if guilt does it, I’ll take it.
Perhaps guilt isn’t really it, though. Maybe you’re all cheering me on, and sometimes I can’t hear it for a few days, as it gets drowned out by the din of work and social commitments. Yeah, that’s more like it. You wouldn’t have come here in the first place if you weren’t at least mildly interested. That’s the kind of motivation I like to receive.