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It's been a fun (haha!) few weeks. I've had both on days and off days and I've noticed that A - my on days tend to coincide with days I give myself a to-do list, B - the to-do list can still backfire if I put too much on it, and C - some days it's still all I can do to get up and get dressed.
I hate that about unemployment. I hate that I can't set a schedule for myself and actually stick to it each and every day. I hate that each day is a struggle to stay motivated, to take one more step in the right direction, to remember that I have a right to my dreams. I'm taking my 5-HTP, I have cats, I make myself go outside every day, and yet somehow the depression keeps creeping back in. Sometimes I don't notice until the end of the day, after I've done nothing but take a 3 hour nap and maybe putz around online. Sometimes I don't even notice for a few days, and then it crashes down on me so hard I can't move. I love Hyperbole and a Half because this is so accurate. Except I'm just perpetually looping through the first part of it.
Anyway, one of my fallbacks for dealing with it is writing in here, because then I'm forced to acknowledge it. To say yes, I got an email saying I didn't get on the pull list for the administrative assistant position after jumping through hoops the last month and a half and, even though I didn't actually want the position, it still hurt. To say yes, I haven't been keeping up with my 4 pages/day editing goal, although![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
malanai has been helping tremendously with motivating me and getting me out of the house. That yes, I am still stuck at 2-mile runs and I can't figure out why my adductors turn into pain-factories and it hurts to walk if I try to push past those two miles. That yes, I cheated the hell out of my whole30 last night with ice cream and cookies because I felt like shit, emotionally and physically. That yes, I don't regret it, even though I feel like I should.
The worst of it is when I tell myself I'm a writer and then I don't write. I can't get up the energy to rewrite and then I beat myself up about it, which only makes it worse. I recognize this and I know it's normal for a writer. And I keep beating myself up for not having a viable career even though even my own mother has finally conceded that for me, anything but writing will only ever be a day job. I know this, I tell myself that that is okay, that it is a viable career as long as I'm doing something else that brings in money, but I still fall victim to the shame and the feeling that in so giving up on an "actual" career, I'm somehow less of an adult. More of a bum. And that always on paranoia that I'm not good enough. That I'm among the hundreds of thousands of people who think their writing is awesome enough to enjoy print or at least someone elses' eyes, when really it's nothing but drab muck.
Ugh. I know I've gone over this before. This is just a constant mental battle for me. So have a page metric. I'm going to go over here and harass the cats until I feel better.
I hate that about unemployment. I hate that I can't set a schedule for myself and actually stick to it each and every day. I hate that each day is a struggle to stay motivated, to take one more step in the right direction, to remember that I have a right to my dreams. I'm taking my 5-HTP, I have cats, I make myself go outside every day, and yet somehow the depression keeps creeping back in. Sometimes I don't notice until the end of the day, after I've done nothing but take a 3 hour nap and maybe putz around online. Sometimes I don't even notice for a few days, and then it crashes down on me so hard I can't move. I love Hyperbole and a Half because this is so accurate. Except I'm just perpetually looping through the first part of it.
Anyway, one of my fallbacks for dealing with it is writing in here, because then I'm forced to acknowledge it. To say yes, I got an email saying I didn't get on the pull list for the administrative assistant position after jumping through hoops the last month and a half and, even though I didn't actually want the position, it still hurt. To say yes, I haven't been keeping up with my 4 pages/day editing goal, although
malanai has been helping tremendously with motivating me and getting me out of the house. That yes, I am still stuck at 2-mile runs and I can't figure out why my adductors turn into pain-factories and it hurts to walk if I try to push past those two miles. That yes, I cheated the hell out of my whole30 last night with ice cream and cookies because I felt like shit, emotionally and physically. That yes, I don't regret it, even though I feel like I should.The worst of it is when I tell myself I'm a writer and then I don't write. I can't get up the energy to rewrite and then I beat myself up about it, which only makes it worse. I recognize this and I know it's normal for a writer. And I keep beating myself up for not having a viable career even though even my own mother has finally conceded that for me, anything but writing will only ever be a day job. I know this, I tell myself that that is okay, that it is a viable career as long as I'm doing something else that brings in money, but I still fall victim to the shame and the feeling that in so giving up on an "actual" career, I'm somehow less of an adult. More of a bum. And that always on paranoia that I'm not good enough. That I'm among the hundreds of thousands of people who think their writing is awesome enough to enjoy print or at least someone elses' eyes, when really it's nothing but drab muck.
Ugh. I know I've gone over this before. This is just a constant mental battle for me. So have a page metric. I'm going to go over here and harass the cats until I feel better.
16 / 184 pages
