Monday, March 8, 2010
Being busy at work mixed with kids and a co-dependent significant other makes it next to impossible to write or even think of writing. My characters won't talk to me anymore. It's safe to say they hate my guts. They are probably at a bar right now having a pitcher of New Castle discussing what a flake I am. I even think they are avoiding my text messages.
Rapidly I am losing hope. Everyday I say to myself "Today you will write!" and theres always a reason I don't. Let me paint a better picture for you so I don't look like such a lagger. I am tired. Not just tired but extremely monstrously tired. It's everyday, not just a certain part of the day. I cannot catch up with myself. I have self-diagnosed chronic fatigue and mild obsessive compulsive disorder. If I didn't have kids I would live in a small attic in London looking over a landfill. Just depressing enough to get some good writing done.
So here I am at work, sitting dis-tractable at my oversized oak/particle board desk. My hair is screaming for a brush and my McDonald coffee is getting dangerously cold. I hear the typing of keyboards floating out of the other offices, the transferring of meaningless calls. My manuscript is in a file in my documents folder...will I open it? Do I dare to write only to give up for some frivolous reason?
You bet I will.