I'm disappointed in myself. I shouldn't be. Because last week was full of wonderful surprises. But I am, and it's weighing me down. I had TWO FULL WEEKS of NO WORK. I had planned to take advantage of it and write a really substantial amount of my WIP considering I had so much time on my hands. I made a goal of 20 thousand per week, which I could have done had I been focused, and which would have pretty much put me into its denouement. Did I write the 40,000 words I had intended? No. I did not. I only wrote 10,000. TEN!
Ugh. That is really bad! Especially considering I do not have kids. Mr Hubbie is also work-free at the moment so it's not as if I had to constantly do housework and cook either! Bad bad bad bad bad!!!
This is the very reason I don't set myself goals. I always HATE myself afterwards!
Now I've started working again. I don't think it'll reach that 60-hour per week hell I had to endure not too long ago, so hopefully I'll get some writing in here and there. But I'm not setting myself ANY GOALS!
The only way to reach my goals, it seems, is if I don't set any. Stupid, weird, I know, perhaps, but hey, what's a writer like me to do?
How do you feel when you fail to reach a personal goal?