Monday, November 19, 2007

I wanted to write something nice today...

...really. I mean it. I did want to.

But the elements of the day simply didn't line up that way.

I finished -- and shipped -- a story this morning. Not a major money-maker (which I really need right about now) but something to help cut the deficit. Writing it was an exercise in agony, not because I wrote badly or did anything wrong, but simply because I never got into it, never was able to find a way to give it the kind of sparkle and flow found in some of my "better" work.

That bummed me out, and the day didn't improve when I put it in the email.

My photographer friend D. called me. He is in Central California with his girlfriend. He wanted to know if I had arranged a photo shoot that's supposed to happen tomorrow. Me. Me, who works as much as a week or ten days to get a story finished, while he spends a few hours on it and is done.

Well, yes, I had made the necessary calls, plus a few others. My stress levels are high enough right now that talking -- and putting up the necessary cheerful, optimistic front -- is like running a marathon. I did it, though.

And I had a couple of run-ins with nemeses in my life as it is currently lived. I refused to lie to them, and thus did not tell them what they wanted to hear.

Then I tried to start work on yet another story, and totally blew it. I was out of sorts, and bagged the whole mess until tomorrow. Except that I will have to spend four hours or so playing shepherd at the photo session, which essentially kills the day.

Thanksgiving? I may buy a package of "deli" sliced turkey and have a sandwich. While I work.

What I really want to do is sleep, sleep for hours, or days, or simply sleep out the time I have remaining to me.

I have no ambition save simple, basic survival. Wish I had a reason to want more.

This seems like a good place to address a point several people have made. I have friends, and I know that. But to call upon them for solace, for the simple act of listening to what has brought me so low, is something I can't manage.

There are a couple of people I trust implicitly, and they know more about my unhappiness than I would ever reveal here. They know who, and what, and why. They are people I've known, and love, and appreciate. Because of that, they are people I trust to hear me say anything and not flinch.

Others are friends as well, but when I think of talking with them I fall into my father's pattern -- which I dislike -- and simply clam up about the things that are tearing me apart. I won't -- can't -- make contact.

That's no knock on them. If anything, it's my failure for not trusting trustworthy people.

And I will admit that the few on whose shoulders I would love most to rest just don't give a happy damn. Or are otherwise occupied. For reasons I won't go into, they are sheltered, protected. People -- male people -- are ready to bail them out, make them happy. As I would if I could.

Sometimes, even the most independent of us need some solace. I know this, because I have provided it. But I can't ask for it myself.

Enough of this. I have accomplished all the tasks I set for myself today. That they weren't enough to raise my spirits is indicative of the way the Universe is messing with me.

I'm being asked -- no, expected -- to give more, and take less.

Screw karma, Jim. Whatever bad I've done has long since been paid for.

Bitter? Me? You damn betcha.

And that, fellow babies, is why I can't write something nice here tonight.


John said...

Better days will come. I believe that. survival is the start. If the expectations are those of others, screw it. They have no right to expect more than they give. And there is no advantage in letting them get used to thinking they can. Easy to say, I know, but I figured it can't hurt. Kindness, and sacrifice for ingrates, aren't necessarily the same thing.

lowandslow said...

I agree with John. Before the "crawl, walk, run" recovery you must first just survive. I hope you have a better day tomorrow, Scribbs. :)