It seems to be this time of year.
I find myself in a mental quandary. I’m looking for direction from that lump in my skull. Sadly, all it does is remind me that I had so many ideas at one point, and right now, I’m so overwhelmed that I feel like I’m frozen and spinning my wheels.
You’d think that, by now, I’d have my life sorted. I have so many author friends who can write, and sometimes that is discouraging. It becomes a whirlpool of “why is my life so out of control now that I can’t do shit all??”, dragging my mind and spirits down with it.
This year, I’m trying to do things differently. I’m sitting down, and while keeping in mind that nothing is ever written in stone until you die, I’m making plans, and outlining how I’m going to get from point a to point b.
I am still working on my mental health. I’m still working on my writing, even if it’s slower than molasses uphill in March. But, I am providing my own direction, I’m providing my own push to get things done.
I guess I’m at the point where I have made peace with the fact I need lists. That my chronic illness has taken some of what I used to take for granted from me. I need to adjust my expectations. I have a child, who I would not trade for the world. Her needs come first. I’m working with my spouse to find a way to get some time daily to write. I also know that it’s not always going to work out the way I want. Hey, that’s okay. Until I die it’s never too late, as my friend Kittana reminds me.
Time to make my life into what I want it to be.