Announcement
I'm back from my week of splendor in Southern California. While I was there I had a marvelous time with friends and almost no time at all online. If you've posted stuff in the last seven days and wonder why I've been radio silence, it's because I didn't read it.
I'm not necessarily going to go read it now, either. If there's some thing you want to be sure I saw, tell me to go look. It's not a lack of love for you, but a practice of love for myself that's stopping me doing a week's worth of reading. Let me explain.
Remember when I said I was giving up self-hate for Lent? For me part of self-hate is stressing about trying to get through a backlog of f-list reading when I really need to get moving on my life again. I haven't even unpacked my suitcase, and I have many things I need to do this week, not least of which is Jury Duty, taking a friend to the airport, stage managing a small play in Berkeley, and getting back to writing.
Also remember my confession about my dreadfully slow reading speed? For me part of self-hate is trying and failing to read that backlog quickly, thus failing to get to the more pressing tasks that need to be done. Soon everything starts to have the same degree of urgency and I start to turn into a little stress monster. Then I'm short-tempered, snappish, and half-way to tears over every little frustration. And then I hate myself even more for being like that.
So I've decided to interrupt the whole cycle by not putting the pressure on myself to read. I'm going to be stern with myself to let go of guilt about this, too. Guilt, after all, is one of my most comfortable feelings, easy to reach for, and just a security blanket formed from self-hate.
I'm not necessarily going to go read it now, either. If there's some thing you want to be sure I saw, tell me to go look. It's not a lack of love for you, but a practice of love for myself that's stopping me doing a week's worth of reading. Let me explain.
Remember when I said I was giving up self-hate for Lent? For me part of self-hate is stressing about trying to get through a backlog of f-list reading when I really need to get moving on my life again. I haven't even unpacked my suitcase, and I have many things I need to do this week, not least of which is Jury Duty, taking a friend to the airport, stage managing a small play in Berkeley, and getting back to writing.
Also remember my confession about my dreadfully slow reading speed? For me part of self-hate is trying and failing to read that backlog quickly, thus failing to get to the more pressing tasks that need to be done. Soon everything starts to have the same degree of urgency and I start to turn into a little stress monster. Then I'm short-tempered, snappish, and half-way to tears over every little frustration. And then I hate myself even more for being like that.
So I've decided to interrupt the whole cycle by not putting the pressure on myself to read. I'm going to be stern with myself to let go of guilt about this, too. Guilt, after all, is one of my most comfortable feelings, easy to reach for, and just a security blanket formed from self-hate.