This IS, officially, “…one of those days…” Ha! One of those “…lives…” more like it.
     Writing is so hard right now.
     Well, hell, writing is always hard…but right now in particular.
     There are just so many distractions at the moment, too many demands. Some are obligations that come with making a living, some are social contracts voluntarily accepted, some are part of the landscape of being human. That being said, I don’t think they would be as much of an issue were it not for the feeling that our household is hemorrhaging financially. Money pours out like blood from an open wound. As soon as we get one bleed under control another opens up. “When it rains, it pours,” they say: vet bills, upside down mortgages, car repairs, bank loans, computer failures, extra time-consuming work demands and the freak-outs that follow. They do not space themselves out nice and evenly but seem to come all at once.
     I think, however, I could handle it all were it not for feeling as if my wits are scattered to the four winds. I’m unable to focus. My memory feels lethargic and my thinking processes sluggish. I feel like a library that’s suffered an earthquake. All the cases are toppled, books are off the shelves, volumes scattered in a mess and I don’t know where to begin picking things up. I feel too dazed to rally.
     My creative friends are producing like never before. I’m inspired to read, write, draw, carve, create, yet I feel stuck, bogged down by the sticky mud of obligation, apprehension and fear of the future. I don’t have writer’s block, on the contrary, the ideas are lined up and call out to be auditioned. Instead, I have…well…would-be writer’s A.D.D. It’s as close a descriptor as I can come up with for this mixture of paralyzing internal fear and overwhelming external demand all yammering for an audience.
     “Too many minds!…mind sword, mind face, mind people watching, too many mind.”
     It’s hard to stay focused. I suspect this is because of a lack of a lack of discipline on my part. Stride. I must find my stride before I lose heart. Lately, however, the sense of urgency that rises from the chaos chokes me and I’m paralyzed with panic. I can’t breath…I can’t write…I flail about for a hand hold…feeling the ideas growing tired.
     I think I need some very, very good sleep, but I suspect what I really need is to radically change the paradigm, alter the construct, because it’s evident that the present one is not working.