…And I’m not just talking about the fact that I haven’t been able to get into the Christmas spirit this year. Really, there’s nothing to get excited about in my world. I work in retail and I have no family to speak of, and I have pretty much given up every other folk in my life, so by the time the day actually gets here, I’m going to be exhausted and want nothing to do with anyone.
But that’s not what I’m talking about.
It’s been several weeks, maybe just two or so, since I’ve worked on my story, “Cracks in the Sidewalk.”
But I’ve been EXHAUSTED. It’s not that I don’t WANT to work on it, I really do, but there are just some days/nights that it takes so much energy to pick up a pen to write a new scene I need, or even just sit here in front of the computer to THINK about writing a new scene I need.
I’ve not been LAZY, I don’t think. But my brain is freaking MUSH. The fact that I WANT to be working on this novel and that I’m jealous of everyone else who IS working makes me feel COMPLETELY GUILTY, even though I’m working my ass off at my day job. It’s just that….when I get home, I just want to eat something, watch tv and freaking veg.
And that makes me feel so guilty. Writing is supposed to eventually be my ticket to…whatever is next. I’m not saying that writing is going to be my ticket out of this hell I’ve put myself in, but it might make it easier to set bigger goals.
I don’t know what I’m saying. Like I said, my brain is mush. Too much worrying, too much sadness, not enough hope or Christmas spirit.
Maybe not enough intoxicating substances to pretend.