Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Being Bummed and Wrestling with Self Doubt

I'm feeling really down right now, and it's like, "Did I remember to take my 'meds' this morning?"  (They're technically supplements, but I take them like pharmacological medications, so they may as well be my "meds.")

I mean, I went to yoga this morning.  Hot yoga. BY MYSELF. My friend who was going to attend my first class with me had to cancel, so I actually sacked up and went solo.  That is a big deal for me, you just don't know.  Well, you may know part of it, but not all of it.  New places, new situations, new people--they all just kind of wig me out.  I like to know what's going on, what to do, and what's going to happen.  I'm a sucker for routines and planning and all those things that make life run smoothly and boring . . .ly.

So trust me, yoga this morning was a big deal.  And, I even liked it!  I already knew I liked yoga in general, but I was really wary of doing it in a room heated to 90 degrees.  Turns out, I'm not as much as a wuss as I thought (though I'm not exactly chomping at the bit to go do the harder class that's 98.6 degrees--you'd be surprised how much of a difference 8 or 9 degrees makes).  Success, right?  I should be happy right?  I got a win, go me!

Fuck me.

I'm here mooning over negatives instead.  I didn't get as many blog hits as I wanted (I know, ungrateful, right?), getting a book out there sounds like a fruitless endeavor (yes, the book I have yet to actually write), nobody wants to read what I write (again, UNGRATEFUL), wah, wah, wah.  I must have been in an accident because I'm riding in the wah-mbulance.

I get that self-doubt is pretty much part of every creative person's creed, but good god it gets in the fucking way.  It saps your energy, distracts your mind, and sucks your dreams out of your head with a straw.  All you can think about is "why should I bother?" when all you should think about is "how can I shut that self-doubting voice up and get back to business?"  I hear alcohol helps.

"Write drunk; edit sober."
                                  --Ernest Hemingway

But unfortunately, at least for me, drinking isn't always an option.  Plus, all the fun stuff has calories.

And really, who needs an extra crutch?  I think people should have two, MAX, because we only have two arms.  And I'm pretty sure I've already got a couple, so, sorry alcohol, we're gonna have to just stay friends (but close friends).

What's a sober writer to do?  Fuck if I know.  I do know that I just polished off a MilkyWay and am still bummed and uninspired, so I'm going to go crash on the couch.  Who knows what dreams and motivations may come?

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