I’ve not written much since my last blog. My day job exhausted me to a point where I just wanted to walk out and not come back.
At times I did not write on purpose, gestating instead, letting my thoughts sit and stew. It wasn’t even a matter of not being in the mood for writing. I was lacking a certain motivation and then doubt settled in. Like the vicious little thing it is, pouncing on you when you are at your weakest.
I read that addiction works like that (from a personal account), rearing its ugly head when you are in a bad place. I always suspected that I’d easily fall for addiction, if I strayed that way.
I always want to write. When I don’t I make it an effort not to, which I do when I purposely procrastinate in order to let my thoughts and ideas drift this way and that.
When I can’t write, however, when something prevents me, I find it agonizing.
Socializing severely clashes with my writing life. I spent my entire weekend with my brother and various friends. I enjoyed myself. I had fun. But there was no room do write. When I had the time, at the and of the day, I was too tired.
Last night was similar. No room to think, none to write. Off to dreamland instead.
But waking this morning was a revelation. I had a curious dream that birthed an idea. I had the luxury of waking slowly, letting my thoughts float.
It’s the ideal way of waking and had I not needed to go and get up to go to work, I would have started writing right away.
From being in the mood for nothing to getting started before 7am I had to go a bit of a distance. But here I am once more, ready to burst into word (since I don’t sing).
There will be more lows in the next five months.Whenever the mind-numbing drag makes me want to run away now rather than later, I will need to pull myself out of it.
That’s one other thing I discovered: only I seem to be able to motivate myself. I mean, I read an inspiring quote or interview or whatever and I get motivation from it. But I need to let it happen. When someone tries to motivate me, because they see that I need it, it won’t do anything for me. I’m not receptive. Perhaps because I don’t want to be. I’d much rather be stubborn. I’m very accomplished at being stubborn, in the best and worst possible ways.
Even when I’m in the mood for nothing, I will eventually pull out of it. Time to get working again. It’ll happen sooner rather than later and I’ve rarely found that I won’t do anything at all for a prolonged period. But I will let emails slide or not do the laundry for more days than I should (that’s the problem with having more clothes than I strictly speaking need).
Juggling a day job and my writing life is not actually easy. I don’t get to have much of a social life, because I chose to have other priorities. The day I will drop my day job will be one of the happiest (and possibly most anxiety inducing) days of my life.
I cannot wait.