Except I didn't. My backbrain really wanted to wait until today, when I'll be at the Fireside Writers' Group after work, and in the mode, as it were.
Here's the thing. I didn't get where I am today as a writer by ignoring my backbrain. I have no idea why it wanted this extra day off, but it did. Okay. An extra day's not going to crimp my production schedule much. And really, I was practically vibrating with Writing Avoidance Fu.
This may or may not be related to the odd phenomenon where I feel nervous just before embarking on a substantial project. The first couple of days when I start a new novel, or a major revision (as now) are often picky, fussy moments for me. Which is peculiar, because there's not that much in life that can make me nervous (outside of cancer stress). I mean, I can stroll onto a stage in front of almost 3,000 people, grab a mic and go without a second thought. Most of the usual social stressors roll right off me — flying on planes, going on first dates, and so forth.
As for writing, I've spent the past two decades making it my life. Almost nothing about writing incites nerves in me. Except starting big projects. (Well, and contract negotiations.)
So pre-flight nerves? Or some bit of buggery in the plumbing of my writing mind? Maybe there's no difference. Maybe it doesn't matter. Because today, Sunspin