I was on vacation last week.

Before, I made plans: to fix things around the house we’ve been putting off, to play video games, to talk to people, and to write.

Before and during, I also focused on making my space feel more like "me." That included reorganizing, decluttering, and adding more art and figurines to my walls. And making my bed even softer. And finally obtaining a soundbar for my subpar television audio output. And– most importantly– making actual space on my brand new desk for longhand writing.

My vacation was spent fixing the back door and replacing and toilet seat and upgrading our showerhead and  making spacemakers for our countertops and stocking up on dinner food and figuring out how to jump in Spyro Reignited and having a blast with Goat Simulator and reaching level 125 in Ring Fit Adventure and

my writing area remained blank.

I also rested. I had the energy to cook dinner, so I did. I enjoyed movies like Coming 2 America until the late hours of the night.

My bullet journal was open, but remained blank.

I bought a Wacom Tablet and purchased the Affinity suite of photo editing software, because I missed doing that sort of thing. And it was high time I learned software other than Adobe. When I remembered to, I logged onto Discord and hopped around Twitch.

Three days into my vacation I realized I didn’t write anything at all for the 750Word challenge this month. I’m still on the Wall of Shame from my last attempt.

I also read the loveliest book, Honey Girl. It was so vibrant and poetic. "Are you there?" I’m  reminded of monsters, the magic of other lonely creatures, and the challenges of a world determined to crush said magic. (That much I should say, without spoilers.)

I had a magic moment of my own, but perhaps I’ll dream of it again.

I was very productive, and I made sure to have plenty of rest. Except for the matter of my blank canvas.

But, this was what I expected.

As my hours became filled with work, and house errands, and exhaustion from the former, I had less time and energy for the things I loved to do. That included writing.

And I’ve lost my knack on sliding in words into what little slivers of time I have. I dream of writing. I dream of good ideas. But I need to return to the habit of at least writing them down.

So.

I opened up 750words and mused, "suppose I’ll start here. I’ll write about my not-so-magical-but-productive vacation."

Little steps. 456 words out of 750, but it is a start.