Why Do I Hate Thinking So Much?
The breath of fresh air you felt last week came
from my disappearance from the internet. As our staff grew smaller and smaller,
and I begged for more and more hours for more moola towards my upcoming move, I not only was
working constantly, I also got the dreaded cold that was flying around.
It shut my brain off.
I was dumber, less efficient in many areas. But I
also had a better time focusing on a single action before me. Having been consumed
with angry thoughts and pessimistic outlooks, this was a nice change. Even
though I was tired and miserable, making a lot of stupid mistakes, I felt a
great deal of tension release from me.
My last day was Friday. It was bittersweet as I
made fun of my coworkers and cheerfully ran up to them to shout how many hours
I had left. I had been feeling a great deal better in the last few weeks, even though I had
been working so much, getting nothing done creatively, and sleeping the majority
of the time.
Yesterday was my first real day off in a long
while, and of course I ended up doing a whole lot of nothing. I started
projects here and there, but I was tired, uncomfortable, and so kept bringing
up Facebook and Reddit which gave me a look into why I struggled to let go of
all of the negativity.
My Facebook feed is filled with articles and
arguments on sexism, politics, and the general complaints about artists and
writers. Drama galore. Reddit Relationships is nothing more than gossip about
selfish and controlling people, which is not something my hopeless, fragile
mind needs right now.
As much as I try to stay away from romance, it
tends to find me. Love is everywhere in our society; you can’t read a book or show that
doesn’t talk about romance or, bare minimum, sex. Loneliness and the seeking of bonds, attention, and basic acceptance is a paramount part to the vast majority of stories we tell each other. And why not? Isn't that what telling a story tends to be about?
On Friday, I tried to blog and found my thoughts
lacking. I didn’t want to say anything I’d been thinking, to portray myself in
that light, and what’s more, I wasn’t exactly inspired by my negativity. In
fact, I’m absolutely sick of it. Be funny for once, damn it.
No. Humor is for people with perspective, and I
have none.
So I didn’t get my newsletter out on time, my Story of the Wyrd up, or my webcomic or blog. Each time I sat there to work it proved so
completely hard to just focus for even a few minutes.
How is it that I managed to get up at three in the
morning for a fourteen-hour shift, six days a week doing mindless labor and yet
be far happier when I left than when I sat at home and tried to write?
I recently picked up a book that I had been
planning on reading for a while, totally enamored with the beginning.
Originally, I had read a short story by the author and fell absolutely in love
with her. It was a part of my idea behind Stories
of the Wyrd—Offering up free fiction could
potentially sell books. Yet, when I picked it up again, I was not impressed
this time. The book was lacking, immature, and less interesting.
But I read it. Quickly even.
The fact that I struggled to find anything to
interest me in the last few months (year, even), suggested that it was me, not
them, but I felt this book proved that pretty well. My difference of opinion on
the part that I even read could be
attributed to age—I feel I’ve changed the most from 24 to 27—but also because I
was just in a bad place and didn’t like anything. Because I couldn’t focus.
Because everything reminded me of something bad. Because I lacked hope. I was
swimming through the motions. I struggled to think.
My work in the restaurant kept my mind just busy
enough. Too challenging and I could keep my mind on it. Couldn’t enjoy it. Too
easy and my mind would flood into all my other issues.
Writing takes a surprising amount of focus.
Usually blogging less so. I speak my mind and it generally doesn’t shut up. Yet
as I tried to work on a post, I just couldn’t.
Writing is habitual, I think. The more you do it,
the easier it is. And I haven’t been doing it.
I leave for New York City in exactly one week. I
have little plans other than immediate and even fewer expectations. I don’t
want them. I am keeping my mind open to possibilities and hope to figure out
what I’m looking for. That’s about it.
I’m reading through my working manuscript one last
time, and the absence of cringing, confusion, and typos few and far between, I
think draft eleven is enough for now. I plan on putting it out there to agents
before I pack up my car and head out to my new life on my 27th
birthday.
It should be a good way to start my new year.
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