There’s not much to this post other than to help me keep my own sanity by throwing myself a pity party. I’ve come to the realization that I set unattainable expectations upon myself, which only results in me feeling guilty and deficient when I fail. And the worse part is, I already know this about myself and yet I continue to do it anyway.
My October deadline is rapidly approaching. I know I won’t make it, and this depresses me. But, somewhere deep in the back of my mind where all the secret wishes and undiscovered stories lurk, I knew I wouldn’t make it from the very beginning. That’s what I do—I set deadlines that can’t be met, putting unnecessary pressure on myself that inevitably makes me less likely to actually do the damn work.
Part of the problem is that right now, there’s just too much going on. I have three classes to plan for (teaching, not taking), and the lesson plans are very detailed so they are taking forever. I have a full-time job that involves writing, so the last thing I want to do when I get home is get back on the computer. I also have an event to plan for, and posters to decorate by next weekend. And, I still have about 110 pages to edit, which doesn’t even begin to include actually going back and making my revisions.
Right now, I feel like this:
To make matters worse, my wrists and fingers ache constantly and with so much going on, that pain has spread to my elbows and neck. I just…hurt, and there’s nothing that can be done about it outside of a surgery I’m not willing to have done because it risks far more than I have to gain. If you ever see me in person you’ll notice that I rarely keep my hands still, because it hurts to do so. Keeping my fingers and hands in motion helps prevent them from locking up and going numb or getting too stiff. I want to give the finger to my fingers.
But hey, at least I have a super helpful sidekick to aid me in my quest for failuredom (What? It’s totally a word). Sir Whisky is always more than happy to sit on my papers, and show his support:
I know it’s stupid to be upset over missing a deadline, especially when the deadline hasn’t even passed and it’s not a date that’s set in stone for any reason other than I said so. But there is so much to do, that only I can do, that it’s overwhelming and I just want to not do it at all. But I will, because while I bitch and moan about being stressed, I love what I do. Ah, the life of a writer. Well, this writer at least.
I will say, in supremely awesome news, that I am nearly ready to reveal the cover for Walk the Red Road. That will be coming soon, and I am very excited to show you all how amazingly talented my artist friend is.
Anyway, I guess I should get to work now. I’ve procrastinated long enough and it’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself.
Side note: I DON'T feel like this, but I came across this picture in my search for a frustrated image and thought it awesome so I wanted to share: