Yesterday morning I was running late to work so I hopped onto the toll road. As I was trying to get on, several cars sped around me as if I was crawling. When I looked at my speedometer, however, I was going 75 mph – in a 65 mph zone.
What the hell?
I hate that.
It reminds me, too, how I keep comparing myself to others even though I know I shouldn’t. I worry that I don’t write enough, that I don’t publish enough stories a year, that I don’t write longer stories, that my stories aren’t published with a bigger, more prestigious publisher.
Why do I put myself through that hell?
If I were sitting at home all day being lazy, maybe I could understand my feeling. But I don’t. Yesterday for instance was a really crazy day. First, my son hurt his ankle so I had to take him to the pediatrician. It had a bad sprain. I missed three hours of work.
While I was at the pediatrician’s office, I got a text from my older daughter that our cat was hurt, that her tail was cut and wouldn’t stop bleeding. When I took my son home for my daughter to watch, my daughter said the tail was hardly bleeding. I thought it would be okay, so I went back to work.
I was only back at work a couple of hours when I got wind that two of my staff were heating up a disagreement. Before I could deal with that my daughter called back frantic – the cat’s tail was still bleeding. So I called the vet who told me to bring the cat in right away. Again I left work early, ran home for the cat, took the cat to the doctor (not too bad thank God), then decided I should make up time at work, so dropped the cat and my daughters at home (the younger daughter had been at work with me so she could volunteer in our Mail Center).
Then I had to go to a late night MRI to check my knee – from 8-9 pm. That was scheduled during the couple hours I was back at work between the pediatrician and the animal hospital.
This was the ONE evening I had off from softball and volunteering at the softball field concession stand, to write, spend time with the kids, maybe go to the pumpkin patch, buy my daughter a pair of jeans she needs, etc. I really wanted to type in the rest of my story and work on it.
I was really stressing out. I couldn’t ask my husband to help because he had a very important appointment down in Miami he had to attend.
So although I’m moving as fast as I can, so fast I feel breathless, on the verge of a nervous breakdown and I’m not moving fast enough. My writing’s at a stand still. Everybody is passing me by.
Yes, I know I have to stop sometimes to live life and get ideas. But it also seems like so many people are passing me by. I wonder if I’m too busy that I should even try, that I should come home late at night and stay up late to write a blog post, or should I spend this bit of time writing stories.
I wonder how so many other people have time to write so much, to publish so many books, what I’m doing wrong that I can’t even begin to keep up. I wonder why I worry when I know I should only judge me against myself.
Recent posts you might like to read:
Why Writers Should Be Like Zombies
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Welcome to the Spookiest Month of the Year (+ don't burn your Ouija Board!)
People Don't Fall Out of Trees - Without Reason
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Big Brother Is Watching You - This Means You BLOGGERS!
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Must Write Must Write Must Write!!!
You'll also want to see what Amarinda Jones, Anika Hamilton, Anny Cook, Barbara Huffert, Brynn Paulin, Bronwyn Green, Dakota Rebel, Kelly Kirch, Molly Daniels, Sandra Cox, Regina Carlysle, and Cindy Spencer Pape are up to, so make sure to visit them also. :)
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