The day started off with abounding motivation. I was woken much earlier than I'd hoped for a Saturday, but a bowl of porridge with honey and cinnamon kept my fresh-from-bed body warm and satisfied.
The girls hair even got sprayed down for their buns, with plenty of time to get to ballet without the usual frazzled rushing.
Laundry was washed, and hung under cover, rain was admired, eggs were poached, the husband came home from work, and the monopoly was once more scattered across the lounge room floor, being played happily.
Somewhere between chatting to a bestie on the phone and curling up under my most favourite [hand-knitted, gifted] grey blanket with a cup of tea, I lost inspiration, and with it, motivation.
The ideas that had been swirling were still there. The creative juices percolating, swirling.
Blog post ideas, and a mental list of crafts to try, and unfinished projects to complete were rushing through my mind, and pinterest added to the abundance there.
But none of it was motivation to do.
I was stuck. Held captive by some sort of bleakness.
I tried to read, but even Spurgeon couldn't captivate me, and words simply swirled across the page and didn't make sense.
I've since put it down to tiredness.
I need a full night sleep. Or ten.
Storms and cats and children clambering over me to find a cosy spot in our gigantic bed have kept me awake night upon night and I am simply weary.
After aimlessly pottering about the house, and not really accomplishing much at all, I resigned myself to preparing a soup to bubble away on the stove.
While it simmered, I sighed, and forced myself to actually do something.
There's nothing that frustrates me more than not doing and I was beginning to get frustrated with myself.
So, with Radiohead crooning in the background, small people occupied and the footy on tv I grabbed myself a piece of cardboard, followed these simple instructions for weaving and just began.
Each in and out with the needle was like a deep breath. My frustration faded, and I sat and listened to my boys play Monopoly, and the girls sat in the opposite corner with their make-believe games, and I thought, "This is actually really nice" and I was thankful.
Tomorrow, I'll finish, and add this to a little collection of wall-pretties for my bedroom.
Maybe the Mr will put some hooks up for me, to encourage continued motivation.
Familiar with weary?
What do you do to combat it, and prioritise creativity?