Hello Sunday! This will have been the first full weekend I’ve written since before I stopped. It’s enough, as a start, for my post-30 day commitment, but there’s definitely more I want to be doing.
I’m full of aspirations and hope and motivation early in the morning, but it dissolves away by 7pm each day. I’m scolding myself a bit here because it’s not as though I go to sleep at 7pm, I just start to shut down. Some evenings I can even manage the slow interminable march towards bedtime without pleading that G. take over the stories.
I keep feeling like a tank drained completely dry. Not a drip left.
Sorry. I know I’ve written this before. I know that this has been a solid 30 (one) days of moaning and complaining and fear and faffing. All I can say is that it’s a pretty accurate representation of my psyche at the moment.
What else to do? First, start with the truth of where you are. There’s some analogy I read somewhere a few years ago that said (paraphrasing) “You can’t get from the kitchen to the dining room if you don’t know that you’re in the kitchen in the first place.”
I get that. It rings true. The problem is I feel like I’m turning circles around and around and singing a tuneless song that just goes “I’m in the kitchen! I’m in the kitchen!” over and over again. I want to get out of the kitchen. I don’t even care if it’s the dining room, the bathroom or the back patio. Just anywhere other than the bloody kitchen!
Maybe that’s the problem then? I’ve nowhere else to go. Without a clear goal in mind, I’m stuck where I am. I’m too scared to go somewhere else, to be something else – terrible and all as it is to be the person that I am right now.
I don’t really know what I want. I have nebulous ideas about “being creative” and “being fulfilled” and “achieving some of my stupid vast potential”. I know that I’m not really any of those things right now, and I’m not super happy about it, but “don’t be in the kitchen anymore” isn’t really a decent goal, is it? I’m going to need a clearer plan of action, I think. And given the battles with evening (lack of) motivation and generalised exhaustion and vague constant anxiety and panic, I’d better tie a schedule to it too, or realistically it’s going nowhere.
(You think I’d at least get the kitchen floor clean with the amount of time I spend here! But it’s just grubby and generally unpleasant.)
It’s kind of like the realisation I had about the book I was attempting to write; I can’t go any further without an outline. Well, I kind of can, but it’s just going to get messy and unfulfilling. So now I need an outline for my life, I suppose. But that feels like too much work! And there’s so much busy work on which to spin my wheels and fill up the days, and let the time drift past so that the calendar moves, all by itself, towards the more interesting events: house, Christmas, baby, holidays.
That’s not a life though. It’s just a sequence of events wearing the guise of a life.
So I’m going to make a plan. Here and now, I commit to planning on planning on making a plan.
What the hell, self? What are you scared of?
I suppose maybe I’m scared that if I fail to do it effectively I’ll get so demotivated that nothing at all will happen. Hey, though – that won’t leave me any worse off than what I am now, where literally nothing is happening.
Okay, a date and a time for the commitment so, or it won’t happen: tomorrow morning. First off, words to be written before the school run. Then after the school run one half-hour of housework, one ten minute break and a half hour to plan a schedule of actual “things” for just the coming week. It doesn’t have to be any further out than that. Just take those first tentative steps, schedule it in and commit as though it were a boring-ass doctor’s appointments – and God knows I can manage to make time for those. I won’t schedule anything beyond a commitment to writing words each morning for weekend for a while. I can afford to build this up slowly; the muscles have become somewhat atrophied, and my mental stamina isn’t really up to where it was the last time I attempted this.
Maybe it’s not so much different though; then I was battling with the anxiety and mental difficulties that I was badly self-medicating with alcohol; now I’m battling with the anxiety and mental difficulties brought about by pregnancy. Both are somewhat self-inflicted.
I feel a bit better to have a plan to plan. I’ll be back here tomorrow and the next day to check I’m staying honest.