I need to follow up with the fact that the itinerary for today was clean, go to acupuncture, exercise, then write. I did the dishes, started a load of laundry and went to acupuncture. House is still a complete mess, I have eaten nothing but a Special K bar (so exercising is out unless I feel like passing out) and I sat down with the laptop. Another bad idea.
So, since I'm sitting here...
The first week of the new year started out like many other first weeks of new years and even new weeks in general. I set a goal, things got hairy and goals have been abandoned with a new start date. I was supposed to eat better, not eat out, exercise, etc. this week and of course I came down with my January cold. Then the work week (which was only 3 days instead of my usual 4) reduced me to a binge-eating mess by midday yesterday. I could try to still eat better the rest of today and just eat in moderation as I recover from the cold and stress, but my self-diagnosed food addiction isn't really ready to let go I think. Having stepped on the scale and worn clothes all week, I should have hit rock bottom, but apparently not. Sigh. When will I learn?
But enough self-loathing, on to the good stuff. My other resolution-type-goal-thingy was to focus on the writing. In a weird twist of fate, or random coincidence, a friend messaged me a link to a Writer's Boot Camp that starts Monday. Thank you, Universe (and Rachel), for the ass-kick I needed! Looks like a cool thing, so I promptly signed up. I'm a little intimidated because I haven't actually taken a class of any sort, outside of insurance related stuff, since I graduated college 14 years ago. Yikes. There's going to be assignments and learning and what not!
I'm really, really excited about it. I'm excited about challenging myself and making writing the priority I so desperately want it to be. I'm excited about working towards a goal I set for myself and for doing what I probably should have been doing all along.
I'm also really scared. I'm scared I'll fail. What if I find out I'm not a good writer? What if I find out that a few blog posts are really all I have. What if I've talked this up and it goes nowhere? But wait, what if I AM a good writer? What if I have a ton of blog posts (like 365 x number of years of future blogging)? What if there really is a book I could write? What if I do become A Writer, not just someone who says she wants to be a writer? What if I write and people want to read more and then they expect me to keep writing. I'm afraid I'll succeed. So typical me.
Somewhere between the weird butterflies of doing something exciting and the disturbing nausea of doing something exciting, is this little part of me that wants to jump up and down and squee and maybe cry a little bit. I feel like a little kid, in both the good and bad ways that feeling like a little kid feels to me. I'm not sure that's a relatable thing, I'm sure it's another round of therapy to try to put that feeling into words that people who don't live in this body can understand, but maybe you get it. In short, I am excited and scared and nervous and anxious and hopeful and... wait... I might puke.
In another act of I'm Going To Be A Writer, I looked into some blogging conferences. Blissdom is coming up next month. It's too late for me to try to go, especially since it's in Nashville. I wish I could though. I've been to the hotel it's being held at for an insurance conference years ago and it was super nice. I'd love to go back. I suspect it's warm in Nashville, too. I could look that up, but I won't. Then I looked up BlogHer. So here's the thing - it's not expensive. And it's in New York. No airfare!! I would try to spring for a hotel room and I have tried to recruit someone (c'mon Dana, girls weekend in The Big Apple!) to come with me and split the cost of said room (maybe I can be a frugal blogger!) but with or without a wing-woman, I think I'm going to go.
Let me explain what I think I'm going to go means. I want to go. I SO want to go. I keep going to the site and looking at the registration page. But then I get scared. Shoot up two paragraphs and you'll see what happens. But I want to go. If I go though, doesn't that make me A Blogger instead of just someone who wants to be a blogger? At the very least, it makes me someone who thinks she is A Blogger, and really, who do I think I am? My husband told me to go. If anyone would have a reason to tell me not to go, it would be him. I haven't talked it over with anyone else, because, honestly, I don't need someone to tell me I should go. I know I should. But if I go (hell, even if I register!) it all feels real.
Real is scary. Real holds me back. Maybe being OK with Real should be one of my resolution-type-goal-thingies. I'm going to go clean my house now. And make lunch. And squee and cry and feel nauseous.
Thanks for reading! If you find me at all amusing, please consider following this blog. You can also share it with your friends on Facebook and Twitter. There are icons for that around here somewhere...