Okay, we’ve been dancing around it in the long time. In literary terms, I’m not putting out the way I used to. It was like I had a raging blogging boner, and it’s suddenly gone flaccid. It’s disheartening, but I’m not getting down about it. Don’t worry, I will rise again. This week has been, as my mother would say, “hair straight back”. And now, It’s Saturday night, the house is a mess, laundry is everywhere, and blogging is the last thing on my mind. Well, of course I think about it, in a “this is not going to happen today” kind of way. But as Anaïs Nin says,
My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living.
I’ve been busy. Time is no longer a luxury to me. And it’s summertime and there are events and visitors. And those experiences take presidence over being hunched at my computer desk. The other day I saw a good friend from a long ago time, and coffee turned into a walk, which turned into chatting and flipping through old photos on my office floor. She left about 11:45pm, and I posted my Marilyn Monroe photo at 11:58, with the sweaty urgency of trying to detonate a bomb. But of course, it’s not a bomb, it’s not the end of the world, it’s not as is the Blogging Police is going to come pound on my door and take away my status as an unpaid writer. I won’t be stripped from the success I don’t yet have. The fans will not faint or swoon, revolt or protest. It doesn’t really matter to anyone but me. But it does feel a bit like running really fast for a long time, and then when stopping suddenly and your legs feeling like jello, and you don’t know how to walk properly anymore.
I’ve been sleeping about five hours a night, on account of the new upstairs neighbours, who are clog dancers who pace in steel-toed boots at midnight. Despite I’ve been going pretty strong, regardless of my sleepless nights. Today was another busy day, and like a fool I stayed up until 2am the night before chatting with lovely theatre people. When the alarm went off at 8:15 this morning, I very much felt like punching myself in the face and setting myself on fire.
And sometime in the late afternoon I hit a wall. You know that feeling, that sudden, yet slow motion, underwater, dizzying loss of energy, and this garbled voice inside your head that says “I am so sooooo tired“.
And then I got home, and unexpectedly got to talk to my best friend on the phone for a solid hour-plus, plus. And then my husband and I ordered pizza, and watched a mindless movie on Netflix. And now I sit amongst the many piles of papers and clothing, pizza boxes, the thump squad above gearing up for another night of tappity-taps. The day will come when my new routine will feel normal, and I’ll find daily pockets of time to write. And I will feel slightly more normal again…for ten minutes or so. Now…it’s time for sleep.