After 165 days of this, I thought it would be easier. There are still days (like today) that I stare at the blank page frozen. Excuses fill my mind. I can feel my blood pressure rising. Inner critic tells me how ridiculous I am being, how easy this is, and that I must really suck if I can't just put something down on the paper. I have to will myself to begin, to face the fear. Just paint some circles. That's my crutch. It's a beginning ritual that hopefully leads my paintbrush onto other things. Finally I have a beginning, a work in progress. I'm calling it "pulling my hair out."