Much like my reading for March my writing was… sparse. Like those cartoonish shots in the old Looney Toons shorts of the tumble weed bouncing across a water-starved desert.
Yeah, that was basically what March’s writing was like.
So, since I don’t have, well, anything to talk about as far as my writing goes, I wanted to talk about mental slumps and sickness, and how sometimes you just have to roll with the ick when it comes.
Sometimes it’s really hard to accept that for all the well-laid writing plans you have, it’s just not going to pan out. Sometimes you’re going to have moments where, while you manage to get out of bed, your trek to your writing space is dependent on whether or not you manage to shower, if your stop in the living room to sit in front of the TV is only for breakfast or for the whole day before you realize that you were supposed to do something important. Sometimes, when it’s not your brain throwing you under the bus, it’s your own body, and all the planning in the world isn’t going to change the fact that you aren’t going to get shit done until you let it pass.
I think, to an extent, I’ve allowed myself to accept the fact that these unplanned, unavoidable instances are out of my control, no matter how much I wish they weren’t. It’s frustrating, and it makes me sad and furious, but it doesn’t change the situation and trying to force it doesn’t help. I don’t say this in a defeatist way, more in a realistic way. A fact. I think if anyone had figured out how to predict and preemptively circumvent mental fuckery, it’d have been patented by now.
It was something that my partner pointed out to me previously when I playfully suggested that we go out the next day, because I was feeling better after being really sick for a decent week or so–but I wasn’t 100% healed. They told me that I had the habit of trying to be right back to normal when I felt the slightest bit better, and it would only make me feel worse because my body wasn’t done being sick yet.
Annnd, they were right. Trying to force it only made me sicker, longer. Just like trying to force myself through depressive episodes or anxious spells makes me feel worse, and my work suffers for it. I just assume it’s the Capricorn in me; I’m stubborn even when I probably shouldn’t be.
It’s always hard trying to find a balance in all of this. I plan… pretty much everything about my life, from my work, to my writing, to my blogging. What I can’t plan are the things that tend to have the most impact on all of those things. Mental and physical health makes it almost impossible to have everything that I’ve planned go through smoothly, and being behind or off track of things, especially writing things, is one of the single most frustrating things for me. I made plans for a reason. Obviously my body and brain chemistry should obey it.
So, March was a slump. A sickly, brain-foggy, slump. I didn’t get anything I wanted to get done, done, and it was honestly a miracle that the writing I do for work did get done (but hey, bills gotta get paid, right?) That said, I’m going to go into April optimistic. It’s Camp NaNo, and I have the goal of getting through 30,000 words—1,000 a day—and some blogging that I’m looking forward to in the meantime.
Here’s making April a scribble-filled month.