Argh!
You'd think I'd be able to focus long enough to write 200 damn words. You really would. Apparently, however, this is too much to ask. That sound? Was my head meeting the metaphysical desk because the computer's in the way of meeting the physical one and anyway, I've got another sinus headache from the bloody weather.
Yeah, I know I've done an awful lot of bitching about my focus/lack thereof lately. I used to have the attention span to burn through 200 page YA novels in 45 minutes, or write 3-4k in one sitting without too much trouble. Used to. I've read very little new literature lately because I keep getting sleepy in the middle, and I can't seem to produce much writing unless I'm online babbling to a writing buddy on AIM, or writing maybe a hundred words and taking a break, repeat. It's frustrating as hell.
Heck, just about everything I've done lately has been broken up a little. I was washing dishes last night and wound up annoying the hell out of my father because I kept pacing from the sink to the pantry. I mean, at first it was the jokey and mildly annoying "The bowl doesn't go there," and then it was "What is going on?" and I wanted the lame jokes back. Because I don't know what the hell is going on. I just feel the need to pace. Admittedly that's not unusual for me, I do most of my thinking up and moving, pacing the hall or the street or just making circles through the house. I've got a lot of nervous habits, and actively covering ground helps me focus on what's going through my head rather than the pattern I'm tapping out on my knee or whatever.
But I want to sit down, I want to accomplish something, and the messages I keep getting from the brain are "get up, pace, your mind is in shambles and you need to sort through it." And I'm torn between yeah, okay, I'm going slightly stir crazy and I'm a pent up ball of nervous energy and "But I also need to sit down and get something done, even if its another short story for a few more magazines to reject, or I'm still going to feel like I'm flapping in the wind."
Also, I know I haven't come anywhere close to telling her, but as of last night, if my mother calls me her eldest daughter one more time there will be trouble of one sort or another. Look, I do have a brother, but he is younger than I am, so if you're picking me out of the whole, Mom, I am your eldest child.
And I know they don't work all that well, but I probably need to pull out the sleeping pills and try to get some real sleep.
Yeah, I know I've done an awful lot of bitching about my focus/lack thereof lately. I used to have the attention span to burn through 200 page YA novels in 45 minutes, or write 3-4k in one sitting without too much trouble. Used to. I've read very little new literature lately because I keep getting sleepy in the middle, and I can't seem to produce much writing unless I'm online babbling to a writing buddy on AIM, or writing maybe a hundred words and taking a break, repeat. It's frustrating as hell.
Heck, just about everything I've done lately has been broken up a little. I was washing dishes last night and wound up annoying the hell out of my father because I kept pacing from the sink to the pantry. I mean, at first it was the jokey and mildly annoying "The bowl doesn't go there," and then it was "What is going on?" and I wanted the lame jokes back. Because I don't know what the hell is going on. I just feel the need to pace. Admittedly that's not unusual for me, I do most of my thinking up and moving, pacing the hall or the street or just making circles through the house. I've got a lot of nervous habits, and actively covering ground helps me focus on what's going through my head rather than the pattern I'm tapping out on my knee or whatever.
But I want to sit down, I want to accomplish something, and the messages I keep getting from the brain are "get up, pace, your mind is in shambles and you need to sort through it." And I'm torn between yeah, okay, I'm going slightly stir crazy and I'm a pent up ball of nervous energy and "But I also need to sit down and get something done, even if its another short story for a few more magazines to reject, or I'm still going to feel like I'm flapping in the wind."
Also, I know I haven't come anywhere close to telling her, but as of last night, if my mother calls me her eldest daughter one more time there will be trouble of one sort or another. Look, I do have a brother, but he is younger than I am, so if you're picking me out of the whole, Mom, I am your eldest child.
And I know they don't work all that well, but I probably need to pull out the sleeping pills and try to get some real sleep.