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The sads

Greetings, echo chamber.

Here are some things on my mind lately.

I am feeling discouraged about my day job.

It is kind of a dumb thing to feel this way, because I am very lucky and have a creative-type job wherein I am the boss of lots of people that I get to manage mostly via emails and text messages (an introvert’s dream!). But I am someone who just wants to do my work and not get all caught up in weird office politics and company competition, and apparently this is an impossible wish. I particularly hate the competitive nature of the market I currently work in, and how aggressive and nasty the ‘bigger fish in the sea’ can be to us smaller guppies who just want to brighten people’s lives by creating art.

I am feeling resentful about all the time my job requires, even though it is very flexible, and again, I am lucky. I feel dumb about feeling resentful when I AM very, very lucky.

I am feeling depressed about the cutthroat nature of the industry and long for a different opportunity to open up.

Writing paradigm shift.

I had such an amazing ‘ah-ha!’ moment reading Libby Hawker’s Take off your pants! It was wonderful and needed, but also I have collapsed on the floor in an unproductive puddle because it takes me back to the beginning and a LOT of rewriting needs to be done. This is fine, and necessary, and I know it will improve my book (and future work), I’m just reeling, I suppose?

I tend to do this though. If I get feedback that is good and important, it seems to bring my writing to a screeching halt. I hate how slow I am about needed changes (I have mentioned this before). I have to marinate on them for a long time, and it really bogs down my productivity. I’m trying to be gentle with myself, though, and give myself the space. Maybe I will just never be one of those 10 million words per day / multiple books per year writers. I feel like I should be, because I write so fast. It’s the feedback / revision stage where I’m like molasses.

An important skill I do not possess.

I do not have a good relationship with time. I am late to almost everything, and forget appointments almost always. It remains one of life’s great mysteries as to why my doctor, dentist, and chiropractor have not all fired me wholesale. For people who have efficient internal clocks, this fault is difficult to understand. My friends say, “Just keep an eye on the clock!” As if I can. I really can’t. “Just keep your phone with you! Set alarms!” I do! And I still fail on the regular.

Today my lack of time-oriented-skills messed something important up and I am weeping into a plate of chocolate chip cookies because of it.

Growing old.

I always thought I would be SPECTACULAR at growing old gracefully. My mother did, and I think she is beautiful. She has silver hair, is wonderfully round and soft, wears little makeup, and has embraced her wrinkles. I don’t dye my hair either, and have quite a lot of gray, but I am struggling with other aspects of getting older. I think I finally have an inkling of understanding for those poor people who have endless piles of money to throw at plastic surgeons. I’ve always thought it was such a sad thing, for a fading Hollywood star to plump herself up and make herself look, well, plastic.

But here I am, struggling with my wrinkles and sags, and knowing if I had millions in the bank I might throw it at a fix. And I’m not a star who feels pressured to remain looking young in order to obtain movie or television roles. My husband loves me just as I am. I’m just struggling and wishing I could turn back the clock.

I hesitated over publishing this for a while… but I guess I’ll finally send it out there into the aether. (Been researching steampunk lately…)