I'm an intense, hyperactive woman with an imagination in overdrive who loves her Husby, her two Wonder Wieners, and her emerging career as an author and photographer.

Thursday, January 11

I (Heart) Snow!

Love it, Love it, Love it! Totally brings out the little kid in me. Hubby's home, working at the kitchen table, dogs are in sweaters under blankets on the couch. Doesn't matter that the power lines are hanging dangerously low, that Cooper the Sooper Pooper leaves his turds just inside the dog door, that my cold is lingering with snot globs large enough to hawk up in a pan and fry sunnyside up for breakfast (thank you, Tony T., for that lovely image). I'm happy, the sky is sparkling, and we're going to try and coax the gutless Prius into the snow to get me to my 1 pm massage appointment. For this brief moment, I'm even content in the knowledge that I've done no paying writing work since Thanksgiving, able to largely ignore the niggling little voice at the back of my brain warning me that it feels way too good to be a slacker.

I never give burnout enough street cred, and I always underestimate how long it takes to mentally and physically recover from it. Even as part of me is trying to relax and just live for a bit, not worrying so much about what I'm not accomplishing; the other part feels worry that I'll never get motivated again, never get back on track. Then, I rejoinder with the justifications of the not-so-little recovery effort after the falling-six-feet-off-the-ladder thing, and the hours of locating and filing paperwork for the ongoing-IRS-Goodwill-Tour (audit) thing, which are very legit time and energy sucks, and yet, my superhuman expectations of myself fuel the internal critic, who is wormtongue-ing in my brain, "You should be writing fiction everyday, you should be writing stories to submit to magazines, you should be researching photo money-making opportunities, you should be pressing all your contacts for story jobs, you should be..." Why, why, why is it so hard for me to let go? Why can't I simply take this time to work my little co-op job, do my yoga, spend time with my hubby, and regroup without all the emotional baggage? Anyone know how to turn off, or amp down the What-Have-You-Done-With-Your-Life-Lately Monster?


At 9:07 PM, Anonymous beemerman said...

I hereby grant you permission, publicly, to say WTF and let it all go. If you wanna cashier the rest of your days, have at it, so long as you're happy, ya?


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