I haven't been writing as much as I would like. I sort of fell off track with the holidays. My workload is heavy and while I'm not physically doing work all the time, my mind is on it or I'm wiped out by it. Most nights I can't even think straight by the time my son is in bed because I'm so mentally exhausted.
The weather of late is getting me down, too. I'm starting to think I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. I want to be in San Diego. The high there today is 71. The high here in NJ is 48. 48 is pretty warm for NJ, so I really should just be happy about it. I'm not though. It's going to be at least two more months before the weather is consistently better and every year it seems harder and harder to take it.
The holidays left me run-down. Just as we start to decompress from Christmas and our annual New Year's Eve celebration with friends, my son's birthday is upon us. Then we have his birthday party. It's a lot of running and doing and planning and what not for someone like me who honestly prefers to be home or in small groups most of the time. Don't get me wrong, I love my family and my friends and all the time we have together. I truly do. But I also love and need downtime which is something that's been alluding me lately.
My insomnia and I have not been getting along, either. I have cut out almost all caffeine. Aside of some coffee in the morning, generally one K-cup worth, I'm decaf the rest of the day. I'm still up most nights for an hour or two. I've started bringing my laptop to bed with me so I can write through some of it, but that doesn't always work. Sometimes 2am writing leads to some pretty incoherent, rambling nonsense.
I'm not void of ideas, though, which I suppose is a good thing. I just need the time to work on them. Time and some quiet is all I need and I can actually get something accomplished, I'm sure of it.
Spending most of my day thinking about writing and not being able to do it is torture. I knew that it was going to take through most of January for my life to calm down enough that I would be able to concentrate and I'm really so close I can taste it. I think being close might actually be making it harder. It's sort of like being in May of my senior year of high school. Graduation is right there.
It was right around this time last year that I was taking a writing class, I was committing to blogging and thinking about writing the memoir. My goals weren't clear - I was going to write more. I was going to make it a priority. But what does that mean? It means nothing, really, unless I commit to an actual goal.
Rather than go down the road of self-pity and feeling like a failure for being where I wanted to be though, I'm going to keep plugging away. I'm going to decide what it is I want out of my writing and start making stuff happen.
I'm so excited about writing, it almost makes it bearable to get through the last few weeks of stress. Almost.