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I gave myself the day off Sunday and 4.8 days later have yet to pick up where I left off on anything.
Anything at all.
I planted my butt on the mini-tramp with the netbook on a tray table late Saturday night and here I still sit whenever I'm in my 'office'.
It's not that I'm sitting here 24/7, nor that I'm doing absolutely nothing productive when I am sitting here that has me out of sorts with myself. It's that I've neglected every project that I claim to have put priority on for four straight days.
The box sort and repack project that symbolizes the most hoped for move back to the Rogue Valley to live with my husband again was stopped in its tracks. What does that say about the quality of my hope and love and determination to stand
The JuNoWriMo novel wordcount is still where it was after day one: 1701. A writer writes. Right?
Nada for the daily exercise on either the mini-tramp or walking Merlin on his leash that symbolizes regaining my health and stabilizing my mood and proving that I can continue to make these healthy choices unsupervised, which are all required before I can move back with Ed even if he gets into a place down there
No more stitches on the now half a year overdue Secret Santa Crochet Project that I still owe my sister-in-law. How embarrassing is that? And because I would not let myself start the baby afghans for my expected grand niece and grand nephew until I'd finished that crafter's tote, both babies were born last week and I've got nothing for them yet.
And as I posted in yesterday's ROW80, I maxed out the Ns on the spreadsheet tracking my time investment goals for three days in a row. The Wall of Shame I called the screenshot of the spreadsheet. It will be four if I don't do something in the next two hours. These goals all represent my claim to be serious about my craft and to be serious about applying my skill set towards helping create mine and Ed's future together.
Is it any wonder I'm feeling down on myself tonight?
In our vid chat this afternoon Ed tried to cheer me up about it, advised me to stop beating myself up and just go forward doing the best I can. To have expectations and goals, yes. But not so high they can't be met and not for perfection.
Good advice and I'm trying to apply it.
But... Yes there is always a but.
But that doesn't address the point I just made above. The fact that I found it so easy to neglect for four straight days all of the things that I claim to have set my heart on. That looks like something more than just lazy.
That looks like a character flaw.
As both a reader and writer of stories I know that characters whose actions belie their stated motives and goals are always in for a world of hurt. At the very least the reader looses respect for them and for the author if the author gives them a free ride.
So what I'm down on myself about isn't just for four lazy days, it's for that nasty dank thing I sense in me that still prefers to curl up in the dark and shiver in fear waiting helplessly for the next well-deserved thunderbolt to frizzle my dreams. For afterall characters with deep enough flaws who refuse to learn from their mistakes don't deserve the happy endings.
Some might point out to me that this is just a symptom of the disease I'm struggling with--a major depressive disorder with some unknown cyclic aspect--and I should be patient with myself and ride the waves until those hoped for better, brighter days come round again. But it disturbs me to take this too far for that implies I have no responsibility and thus no control over it. Which in turn implies that curling up in the dark waiting for the next clap of thunder is the only rational response.
As a reader and writer of stories in which character matters I can't accept that. For if what I choose to do or not do, think or not think, want or not want doesn't matter then what can be said to matter?
Anything at all?