Welcome to the week from hell. Something came up suddenly, and I had to leave work and run… but not before multiple relatives I haven’t heard from in eons showed up to ask how I’m doing. And what’s going on. And what our plans are. And how hurt they are that they aren’t popular enough to be my shoulder to cry on.
Most of my family can’t even spell introvert.
And there are a few who keep getting “introvert” and “pervert” mixed up. I keep trying to explain there’s a difference.
So, I spent half of yesterday at work, and half of yesterday driving, and half of yesterday just being overwhelmed and confused. And yes, that’s way too many halves for one day. I know.
I spent half of today driving the rest of the way. Got up at 4:30 to do that. (And felt guilty about sleeping that late.) Hit a strange city. Spent far too long wandering around lost, looking for destinations, food, toilets, and hotels. And then spent a huge chunk of the day cleaning house. Cleaning house? Excavating house might be a better word for it.
I just finished eating supper. I’m so exhausted I’m barely awake… and here I am, writing a post for a blog. My blog.
The order of the day seems to be keep fighting. Never, never, never give up. I would like to quit, now. I would like to go to bed, and get some sleep–at least a little bit of sleep–before I have to wake up and do it all over again. And yet, here I am.
Writing about insecurities. Writing about the fear that I don’t have the strength to keep writing for as long as it takes to get to my goals. Writing about the fear that I will wander off the path, get lost, and transform from a writer to a chartered accountant before your very eyes. The fear that I’ll turn back, two days before I find Eldorado. (Seriously? Spell check is hitting Eldorado? Figures.)
So, I’m looking at this… a little whiny tonight… a little beaten, and wondering How long? How long before I have something to show all the extroverts. (And not this blog, please. Somewhere… else.) How long before I have something to show myself? Will I ever be happy with what I have in front of me… And just how far away am I, anyway? Am I closer to the Oresteia, or to Mopey Cat Haiku from Teen-Social Network?
In another five or six hours… with some of that being actual sleep… I might feel like I’m making progress. I might feel like I have potential. Talent, even. Maybe skillz. But right now, I’m thinking about selling insurance for a living. Maybe painting lines on parking lots.
But I haven’t stopped moving. And here’s the post to prove it. So, there.