What makes sense? To stare at the screen for hours and typing nothing, a few sparse words, or to pull something from my head and get the bargain made.
Next year, next year, I think this must go differently. This is not the best use of my time. This is not teaching you or me. I’m sort of done proving I can do this when what I need to do is to write fiction, or poetry, or things that showcase my abilities and don’t make me seem like this neurotic creature. I am, of course, a neurotic creature, but some portion of that neurosis aggravated by the fact that I am desperately hurrying night after night to say something transformative and value-laden and seductive and pithy and PERFECT. And the clock constantly is running out on me. I’m never quite getting there, I feel like I would know it if I was. I think a writer hones a sort of ear over the years to know when their work is alright. This isn’t work, it’s just work. It’s just a real, actual struggle. Tonight, my friends, I’m not enjoying doing this.
I’ve said that. But I’m thinking maybe next year is daily story word count check in and a weekly vomit my guts out sort of post to update myself and the universe. But this is an hour for sixty-five words and the day gets burnt up with my eyes half on Antiques Roadshow, half on convincing myself I still know the majority of all the countries in the world. It’s the easy ones that kill you, like I definitely remember Cyprus, but apparently not in a time-pressure situation.
So, since I don’t think I have the time to ruminate on my story, let’s try a better, faster, stronger solution. Let’s apply some goddamned solvent to the mess.
Things I love: That even through the worst of it, and I hope and pray that this is the worst of it right now, we are still able to sit around a table and crack jokes and make things funny. That I’m being modeled how to deal with these kind of stresses without taking them into my soul, without letting them root into me. That I am inching toward giving a shit again about myself. The fact that days do still fly by and I’m starting to feel a bit more independent, a bit more able to take on responsibilities, a bit more like I should be. Taylor Swift’s Bad Blood video.
Things I’m grateful for: little outlets, kind comments and connections, being able to start .0005% to detox, any time I force myself to stand up and deal with my shit, spring air and birdsong, and clean spaces, having a longer record of things I’ve done to report than things I’ve yet to do.
Tomorrow wouldn’t it be great if: we got a little relief, if the sun came out figuratively and literally, if I called and made some appointments, if I did something good for the house or the body or the world?