I realize now why I had such trouble writing yesterday--with only two days left, it felt like I had to come up with The Best Slice Yet, that I had to figure out which story was The One That Must Be Told.
But it's okay. I'm allowed to keep writing after today. I can participate in the weekly SOL writing; I can keep blogging, I can experiment with fiction, I can write my memoirs in limerick form, if that's what I choose.
I can write. I have made room in my life for it in a way I hadn't since the days of blank travel journals. I can write. It doesn't matter that I won't become a published author, much less write the kind of literary magic that brightens my reading life. I can write. Some people will read it, and some of those people will respond kindly. I can write, and learn what I think, and push myself to think more and write better.
I can write.