A gift from my husband.

I had the best intentions of returning here yesterday for an update on my workday, but . . . I fell asleep. And that's okay. That happens.

(It was also okay, because I fell asleep during a marathon of QI and thusly dreamed that Stephen Fry was my friend, so we got to hang out for a few hours in my head. That was excellent.)

I wanted the update to be a simple this-is-what-I-did-today—a public reminder for myself, a "See? Look what you accomplished even with your brain nattering away at you."—so that's what I'll do now. Keep this simple and quick.

After posting yesterday, I . . . 

Fell asleep.

Yeah. This is a bit of a thing in my life. But writing that post was exhausting, so. This nap was planned. I woke up when Jarrod popped by to deliver the above container of delicious (and funny) mac-and-cheese.

I say it often, but my husband? He's a really, really nice guy. The best guy.

After he left, I spent a few hours working on a project that I owed a friend. And I finished it. And I emailed it away, and that made me feel all puffed up and helpful and good inside. Then I took a phone call from another friend, and then I replied to some heart-swelling texts, and then—yes!—I opened up Isla.

Lately, I've been piddling around in a pretty tight section, so I put a (temporary) stop to that and forced myself into the two chapters that require the most work. This wasn't easy—in fact, this is the very thing I'd been avoiding for a week—but I had juuuuuust enough strength to do it.

Opening up to others always makes me stronger.

So . . . I did it. I worked on the Hardest Part. I didn't make it far, but that doesn't even matter. Because stepping into it is the actual hardest part of the Hardest Part. It'll be less difficult today. And even less difficult tomorrow.

Yesterday ended up being a good day. I never made it into the shower, but I did make it out of bed. And I got some work done.

That's not nothing.

Thank you, everyone, for your comments and tweets and messages and emails. I feel supported and loved. And I hope those of you who shared similar stories with me feel less alone. I'm going to reply to as many of your messages as I can this morning, and then I'll disappear back into my manuscript. It's gonna be okay.

We're all gonna be okay.

One final note: Yesterday, I briefly mentioned Marc Maron as one of the people who has helped me through this sloggy morass. I want to talk about Marc and his podcast a lot more here, because I have STRONG POSITIVE FEELINGS about Marc and his podcast, but I don't have the time to do that today. For now, if you aren't familiar with him—and you're a creative, anxiety-prone, depressive type like myself—I'd like to point you toward this incredibly well-written article that explains why he's the best interviewer working today.

Marc isn't for everybody. I mean, the name of his podcast is WTF and that F comes out a lot when he speaks. So I know that automatically rules out a few of you.

But listening to Marc and his guests speak with such an astounding level of honesty has helped me more than anything else in the last year. His voice has been such a presence in my house that my husband cheerfully and routinely asks me, "What's your friend Marc up to today?"

His work feels that close to my heart.

So check out the article, and if you'd like to try his podcast, my suggestion would be to start not with the latest upload but with one where he's interviewing someone you already admire. That'll be an easier place to jump in. He can sound a bit abrasive at first, but soon you'll learn that's exactly his charm.

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