(no subject)
A friend and I tried to get tickets for the Darren Criss gig in London later this month and both times, we failed. :( I hadn't seen her for six months, though, and it was nice of her to think of me when she asked if I wanted to go. It's a shame we weren't able to do it, as I would have loved it and would have loved to have gone with her. Hopefully there'll be other opportunities and I'll see her soon.
I'm home for a few days and recovering from what's been two really miserable weeks of croaking, coughing and sneezing; it took me ages to get better. It was great to get away at last; my nieces had been around the day before and left little chocolate eggs all over my room in my very own special hunt.
I haven't been home in ages and surprised myself with writing a little Sherlock fic this morning. It sounds silly but I get really bad writing anxiety over it: my chest goes tight and I can't focus on what I'm doing, I get really anxious and can't produce anything good - because I'm trying to fight off the anxiety as well as write a good story. Essentially, the anxiety becomes a barrier and even if I do write something, it might not be as good as something else. It only ever happens with the Sherlock fanfiction; I love Sherlock, but I can't write for it. But then this morning, in the comfort and safety of my own bed, I wrote something I was happy with and felt comfortable writing. It's only three pages but I took my time with it, didn't get frustrated over it, didn't lose patience and got all the way to the end.
Which makes me wonder why. I have a small room at my flat and I often write on my bed because my deskchair is busted but I experience a certain anxiety away from home that I never get when I'm home. I guess I'm so used to that feeling - being alone in a different bedroom, trying to make a story work - but here, I feel anything's possible. I guess it's because there's lots of space to write in my Dad's house and he basically lets me go anywhere I want with my laptop. I wish I could afford a nice place to live, but that's the age we live in and I've got a roof over my head. I'm just worried that I'll always be renting, rather than buying and that nowhere I live will ever feel like home. Some of my friends have got a proper home of their own already and I really don't know if I know how to make one.
Oh well. Best foot forward, I suppose.
This entry was originally posted at https://ellieet.dreamwidth.org/590759.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
I'm home for a few days and recovering from what's been two really miserable weeks of croaking, coughing and sneezing; it took me ages to get better. It was great to get away at last; my nieces had been around the day before and left little chocolate eggs all over my room in my very own special hunt.
I haven't been home in ages and surprised myself with writing a little Sherlock fic this morning. It sounds silly but I get really bad writing anxiety over it: my chest goes tight and I can't focus on what I'm doing, I get really anxious and can't produce anything good - because I'm trying to fight off the anxiety as well as write a good story. Essentially, the anxiety becomes a barrier and even if I do write something, it might not be as good as something else. It only ever happens with the Sherlock fanfiction; I love Sherlock, but I can't write for it. But then this morning, in the comfort and safety of my own bed, I wrote something I was happy with and felt comfortable writing. It's only three pages but I took my time with it, didn't get frustrated over it, didn't lose patience and got all the way to the end.
Which makes me wonder why. I have a small room at my flat and I often write on my bed because my deskchair is busted but I experience a certain anxiety away from home that I never get when I'm home. I guess I'm so used to that feeling - being alone in a different bedroom, trying to make a story work - but here, I feel anything's possible. I guess it's because there's lots of space to write in my Dad's house and he basically lets me go anywhere I want with my laptop. I wish I could afford a nice place to live, but that's the age we live in and I've got a roof over my head. I'm just worried that I'll always be renting, rather than buying and that nowhere I live will ever feel like home. Some of my friends have got a proper home of their own already and I really don't know if I know how to make one.
Oh well. Best foot forward, I suppose.
This entry was originally posted at https://ellieet.dreamwidth.org/590759.html. Please comment there using OpenID.