I missed posting yesterday. It was one of those days that just got away from me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
My Puppers has been sick the last couple of nights. Throwing up every other hour or so overnight. I haven't been getting much sleep because of it. Yesterday started with a trip to the vet. 2.5 hours, tons of tests, countless shots, and a stupid amount of money that I don't have later…? Pancreatitis. Awesome. I then had to get gas, and food, and then drive 2.5 hours to my mother's house. All on about three hours of non-consecutive sleep for the second night in a row.
Luckily I made it to my Mom's unscathed. I managed NOT to fall asleep and went to dinner and my cousin's baseball game.
Having a pet has made me rethink having children. I know that people say this often but it's true. The amount of worry and stress involved in trying to care for a sick pet who can't tell you what's wrong. It's this tiny little life that you know will eventually have an expiration date and it's a gutting thought.
I've very lucky that I've found an excellent set of vets, who, even though they always recommend an absurd amount of testing; really do care about your pet and making sure that they are as healthy as they can be.
So here I sit, with a recovering puppers and her best friend (my Mom's dog) and vacation mode has truly set in. I've only thought about work once today. Well, twice if you count the typing of the thing. I'll call that progress.
I seem to be having trouble finishing things. I signed on to be a content writer for a podcasting group called Blazing Caribou. They have multiple different podcasts and one of those podcasts is a show about historical events. I was excited! I was what you might call “gung-ho”.
I picked my topic, something I’ve found fascinating for years. And then?
Nothing. I did a little research, figured out what the word count ought to be and then nada. I have no motivation to finish the thing. I desperately want to establish myself in the podcasting arena. I want to write, to create content, I can feel it in my guts.
But then at the end of my day after I’ve sat in my chair staring at spreadsheets for hours, the last thing I want to do is think. So I bury myself in my TV shows and my books and I don’t allow myself to create. I know that I need to take the time to do so. I can feel it starting to become bad for my mental health.
I should start with the stuff for Blazing Caribou but where’s the motivation? Why can’t I hang on to this feeling throughout the evening that I have first thing in the morning?
I’ve had this idea for a children’s book percolating in my brain for a few years now. There are so many questions about how to go about it though.
If the average word count in a picture book is approximately 1,000 words, how do you convey what you want to convey simply enough to be impactful and engaging with so little to work with. Then, how does one find an illustrator? Place an ad? Do you pay for one time illustration and then you own all the rights to the material? Promise them a portion of any proceeds?
How do you get the thing published? Do you NEED a literary agent? Or can you just publish it yourself? I suppose Google is good for some of these things. I should probably go about figuring this all out.
I Googled since I actually wrote this original blurb. It was almost no help at first glance. Websites touting cheap illustrators, websites saying don't find an illustrator--your publisher will do it for you. Websites for self-publishing. Sometimes the internet is overwhelming with the information it provides you.
Honestly though, I should probably write the damn thing first. I really wish that I was artistically inclined, I’d just do it myself.
You think you're strong. You think that you know who you are, that you are comfortable in your own skin. You are wrong. I didn't believe this myself until I started my blog and website. Here I am creating content on a near daily basis. Is it good content? I have no idea.
Have I advertised it on my personal Facebook page? I have not. Reaching out to the people who know me and shouting “HERE I AM” after years of keeping everything close to the vest is incredibly daunting and terrifying.
I realize it doesn’t make sense. I’ve had myself and my person broadcast online for years now. Dating all the way back to those old fashioned AOL Chat Rooms back in the late 90s (shout out to the PTHers, woot!). I’ve never really been shy online, but in the last few years I’ve become more reserved with my personal information. If I get tagged in something, I almost always remove the tag. If you post something to my wall, I’ll likely leave it up only long enough to discuss the thing and then, once you’ve moved on? It’s getting deleted. My Facebook wall is a carefully curated version of me that I want you to see.
There are multiple reasons for this. It’s not that I care what people think per se. You either like me or you don’t. There isn’t a whole helluva lot I can do about it. But there are people I work with who I am friends on Facebook with, family members who maybe don’t need to see me ranting about the President, or laughing at inappropriate memes. I have even started to be more careful about the things that I “like” since those show up in everyone’s newsfeeds.
At this point, these things are hardly even conscious decisions. Recently (four years ago, sheesh), I moved from my relatively small town with a good group of core friends to a bigger city where I basically knew no one except the people I work with. I learned something very important during that move. Your life is what you choose it to be. Your friends are the ones you choose to have. You are who you choose to be.
That all being said, who I choose to be…with ME? That’s all well and good until I think about potentially putting it out there to be seen by everyone who knows me. It would be their first glimpse of the real me. The real me got so used to rejection that I kept it all close to the vest. I think that may be it though, a fear of rejection rather than a need for people to like me and what I write.
I don’t know. Maybe it’s all a bunch of bullshit. Because in all likelihood, no one will ever read any of this anyway. I could post it on every wall of every person I know and they’d just move on with their lives.
What about you all? Have you been brave about putting yourself out there?
Friday night I received a text message of all things, telling me that my second job had come to an end. I knew that it would be ending soon, so it didn't necessarily come as a surprise. I had certainly wished it had lasted longer. I do love making extra money and until I figure something else out, the bills are going to be tight. I'm back into some delightful credit card debt. Always fun to be stuck in that rut.
I've applied with an online retailer for their night and weekend customer service position. Unfortunately because I have a full time job and a doggo, the second job has to be remote. I can't stand the idea of leaving the doggo by herself all day and all night. It's not right. She has enough separation anxiety as it is. Hell, so do I. My savings should cover the minimum credit card stuff for about five months.
This also means that I can't really go out any old time like I wanted to. Honestly, I couldn't before either. It's why I'm in debt up to my eyeballs in the first place.
On the bright side of things, until I have the second job, I'll have the time to do all the things that I wanted to do but never had time for. Catch up with the giant pile of to be read books, finish my Rosetta Stone for Spanish and start the French one. Write for you. Write one of the fourteen novels in my head. Write write write. Get the podcasts going. I feel like there are a million things to do. All I really want to do though, is nap. Is that so wrong? Sleep, read, watch TV, eat, repeat.
I want to write, but I don't want to write. I just want to work. Work keeps the thinking away. I could exercise more. I'll certainly endeavor to do so. I can't remain this weight, that's for certain. Not only is it unhealthy, it's just uncomfortable now. It didn't used to be. I guess that's what getting up to nearly 300 pounds does to you. Makes you lazier and lethargic and uncomfortable.
We'll see how it goes. Maybe the blog will hit it big and you'll pay me to write. Right? Ha!