The events that occurred during my planned hiatus and subsequent events (which lead to an even longer and unplanned hiatus, so I guess we're dealing with hiatus-es here) really threw me for a loop. Actually, they really messed with my head . . . chemicals. Our vacation was a total bust. I wrote a super duper LONG review all about it on Trip Adviser. I got an email saying lots of people were finding it helpful, yay! (If you want to read it, go to this page and look for the one entitled "Do not EVER go here during the rainy/hurricane season, if at all.")
Then I got an e-mail saying the resort had written back; fuck that. I've READ how those places respond to negative reviews. In trying to spare their image, they apologize profusely and then manage to turn it around on you and make it look like it was all your fault, and they really couldn't help anything you complained about, and you're the asshole. To spare my blood pressure and my currently tenuous grip on an even-keel mood, I'm not reading that reply.
I don't think I realized just how much I needed that vacation until it turned into pretty much the opposite of what I was hoping. I was hoping for relaxation and some much needed couple time with my husband. Instead it became a stressful mess that had leave four days early and end up back home with Nana and the kiddo. We tried to make the rest of it a fun "stay-cation" (honestly, I hate that word--it sounds too goddam trendy--but it's appropriate in this situation, so I'm using it anyway), but then a knee issue hobbled me for a few days, and it was seriously just one thing after a-fucking-nother.
I was pretty damn depressed for a while afterward. At least it was situational depression and not "your supplements no longer work, get back on pharmacological meds and kiss any chance at a satisfying sex life goodbye" depression. Things started to get better, I went back to yoga, and I looked forward to establishing a routine. Aaaaaand then my husband had to go out of town, and that shot both my routine and my lifting depression to shit. I love the lifestyle his job affords us (more than just financially, too), but I swear, he has started having to go out of town more often this year and it is wearing me DOWN.
To top it all off, I haven't felt like writing, practically at all. The idea of working on my book right now is actually repellent. I still write down ideas, plots points, and whatnot when they pop into my head, but the actual writing part is at a standstill. My characters are just going to have to sit their asses in that bar until I feel better.
I honestly don't even really want to write this, but I guess it's some sort of last ditch desperate effort to spark my writing desire back up. I've had ideas for blog posts, but the second I sit down to write them (or sometimes before I even get to my laptop), I just get the"I don't wanna write"s. And it's not that it will be hard, or that someone might not like it, or all the other BS reasons I've had in the past. It is a gut feeling of "NO."
I've listened to that feeling so far, thinking maybe I just need some time, but even time doesn't seem to be helping--especially with life continuing to throw shit at me--so today I'm trying telling my gut to STFU. Will it make a difference? Doubtful. But this way I can at least say I tried.