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Sunday, April 20, 2008

Not Doing Good

Not doing real good these days. I'm depressed about how little writing I can get done (how little anything I can get done) these days. Yesterday was my day off from the baby, but I couldn't get a lick of writing done. I spent the entire time organizing my files, since I had Blood 2 stuff in about four different locations. Couple that with the fact that I found a list of things I wanted to put into the next Blood 2 revision, that I totally forgot about. (Maybe it's better I didn't find it, that allowed me to do a revision with the door shut, and not worry about being obligated to include soemthing.

Not to mention I feel really inadequate with my style. After seeing all the times I said 'turned' and 'walked' and 'looked' in Blood 2, and then reading something so thick and tight and heady like Behemoth by Peter Watts, and then looking at Fairy Story and just not feeling jazzed about it at all - it's very depressing. I feel like I can't write any better than a book meant for junior high kids. And then I'm afraid to write because I'm afraid it's going to end up looking like middle school prose. It makes me feel like chucking all my story ideas out the window.

Maybe it's just the lack of sleep. But I keep feeling tenser and tenser each day - the commute, the baby, impending yard work, the memories of getting fired, the half hour for lunch, no music at work, no internet at work, no work at work, the cleaning, trying to work out. Every day I feel more stressed out. It's taking all my effort not to snap at my baby when she's crying and crying. I run around trying to reconnect the sump pump, hook up the DVD player, clean the air exchanger, and then I feel guilty because my wife has to take care of the baby while I do all this, when she's been taking care of her all day.

Even changing my work hours wouldn't help, I've already thought about it. If I go into work early, I won't have any private time in the morning to do things like DVD burning, music editing, and necessary biological needs. Doing it the afternoon is impossible because the family demands my time then, not in the morning. My wife won't let me go into work later because she wants me home when she's home.

I feel like I need to take a day off of thinking about writing, but if I don't write, I feel like nothing's getting done, and the backlog of stories in my mind sits rotting. If I don't write, then these stories won't get told, and they'll die. And there've been too many days that pass by where I don't make any progress on stories. If I make progress on stories, then I'm neglecting my duties around the house. I'm being pulled in too many directions, not by outside influences, but by my own wants and needs. The wants and needs that keep me sane.

In my mind there's this ticker/warning that keeps repeating "there's not enough time, there's not enough time, there's not enough time". I'm afraid I'm going to die before I'm able to complete everything. Kind of like in Blood 2.
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