Enough.

After battling a headache all weekend long, I managed to get up at 5:30 this morning and wrote 600 words.

Then I got in the shower, got prettied up for work.  Arrived at work a little early, ate only healthy snacks throughout the day, finished several projects, stayed a little late, and drove through torrential rainstorms to get home.

At home, I remembered to email my mother and a few friends.  I read some helpful writing blogs, pinned a few things to my ever-expanding Writing board on Pinterest.  Made tonight's dinner and tomorrow's lunch.  Tidied up.  Took allergy meds and melatonin on time, ensuring that I will be able to get to sleep at a reasonable hour and that I won't be sneezing my face off when I wake up.

I did all those things--writer things, worker things, and around-the-house things.  I wore many hats.  And yet I still somehow feel like I didn't do enough.

I focus on that 600 and wonder why it couldn't have been 1,000.  I curse myself for meddling with my fantasy baseball teams early this morning, which took away from my writing time.  I get angry because doing 600 words a day will get the novel finished in less time than if I was writing 1,000 words a day.

No matter what I do, it'll never feel like enough.  If I hit 1,000 on a work morning, I'll probably berate myself for not getting to 1,200.  So on and so forth.

I'm proud of those 600 words, but dammit, they still just don't feel like enough.