I got sick. Apparently part of the reason I was having issues actually finishing writing was because my body was working it’s way up to freaking out and crashing. A day and a half of a 103 degree fever and I’m feeling a bit better, although I still feel relatively miserable. Anyway, this is some of what I’ve managed to accomplish. I’ll post the rest of it tomorrow, or part two. I have a feeling it’s going to wind up being longer than two parts.
It’s taking me longer to do finish what I started.
I feel like how I used to when I would set out to make something as a kid and had a class project. I would watch everyone else set everything up and just do it, no questions asked.
I would overthink, plot out what I wanted to make, make it, and then feel bad that it didn’t look the way I thought it should in my head. I would imagine that the garbage everyone else made came out exactly as they wanted it, no mistakes.
I’m the only person capable of making mistakes.
At least that’s what I used to think. Well, maybe ‘used to’ is no longer the correct turn of phrase.
I think this is mainly the problem I’m experiencing now.
I am writing. Really writing.
I don’t know if it’s going to be trash. I want to trash it. But I won’t.
This is partially because I’ve already started sending people bits and pieces of the first draft, and partially because I feel really good about what I’m writing.
Okay, I lied. It’s only because the people that I sent the drafts to have saved it and are holding them ransom. If I delete what I’ve written they will post the crappy drafts that I’ve written and everyone will laugh at what a trash person I am.
Then again, they probably will when I post it anyway.
I am such a positive person.
I didn’t mean to backslide. I had a plan. I had focus. I had ideas and thoughts that needed to be said.
I also had anxiety. I had worry and panic.
I feel awkward writing in front of my husband. I feel like any moment, regardless of how supportive he has been of me that something will change and he will start laughing. I will be a joke, and my hobby will be stupid. I will have written badly and he will think that I am foolish for doing more than just my ‘real’ job.
I think that’s just my brain talking, thinking, whatever.
Today feels like walking out into a swamp, and rubbing myself in the water. Potentially on a crocodile. Alligator? Alligator. They’re fresh water. I finally feel like I understand 1/10th of what it would be like to experience “The Midnight Sun” [That’s an episode of the Twilight Zone. I watch too much Twilight Zone].
The weather has been this wonky since yesterday, and I feel like my brain and body are both trying to push through a thick fog of heat and humidity. I would rather it rain and get over with instead of stay miserable and gross.
This isn’t going to be terribly long.
In any case, during my aggravatingly distracted drive home, I started to plot out an idea for a movie I’d like to see at some point in my life. One that will never get made, because Hollywood doesn’t like ideas that aren’t guaranteed to get them money.
Have you ever had one of those nights where dreamed you were going through the motions of the day, and then woke up and had to do it all over again?
I had to live through a nightmare of a full shift, climbing into bed, and then boom, the alarm goes off and I realize it was all fake. Just my brain making me do more work.
On a more positive note, some pretty cool stuff happened yesterday!
My husband wants to get back into streaming again. He says that me actually sticking to a schedule (haha, jokes on him) and actually writing ( about something anything at all) is making him feel motivated to stick with something he has wanted to do.
I am going to take all the credit for his desire to do this. I feel like preening for a bit.
I don’t regret many things in my life.
I honestly do think that every single action and event and decision we choose or don’t choose to make in life leads to the point and person that we are at any given moment in time. Me taking the time to actually write these words are somehow influencing my perspective as a person. And anyone who reads it, and anyone who interacts with anyone who reads it, etc. Trippy idea, right?
Life isn’t something to be wasted sitting around sighing about what we should have done, or could have done. It’s about using what we have done, to influence our future, potentially for the better, maybe not. I mean it’s your life.
Even though I have accepted this idea as truth in my life, even though I fundamentally know that if I were to somehow go back and change things I would be a completely different person, I can’t help but feel a bit sore about one aspect of myself.
I regret that I have spent, and probably will spend so much of my life afraid of failure.
A couple of weeks ago at work, we had a power outage in our building, and today our phone lines went down for a couple of hours. It may be that we work in an old building, but one of my coworkers joked about how I was the person most likely to have done both intentionally.
People sometimes joke that they could see me being a serial killer.
I’m beginning to sense a theme here.
Anyway, here’s some fiction stuff I wrote about that.
During the viewing, my grandmother talked a lot about her bracelet. It’s a lovely yellow gold, and diamond tennis bracelet. Her mother wanted it to go to her sister, but my grandmother decided to be a spiteful bitch and not give it to her because her sister never tried to see her mother when she was living with my grandma and grandpa. My grandma said she paid her dues, and her sister never did, so she figured she was owed it.
I can get behind that grandma, I’m kind of a spiteful bitch too.
My Uncle died on Wednesday.
I’m not exactly sure if that’s the best way to start something like this, but I guess it’s as good of an introduction as anything.
He was a paranoid, crazy Uncle, but he was my paranoid, crazy Uncle.