On the 19th I finished a 10-week online class called, Writing the Personal Essay. I walked away from the class with three 3,500 word essays, and I’m exhausted. I took last week ‘off’ to rest and figure out where to channel my writing next. I’m flying in circles with the loss of a directional tool.
One of the essays, the first one, I wrote a year ago and it’s been through several revisions. I need to put the finishing touches on it based on the feedback I received from the course and then send it out into the world. I have a list of about 10 or so literary magazines that I want to submit it to.
That’s great and all, but I imagine it’ll be time-consuming. Then there’s all the other projects and things around the house that I ‘let go’ so I could survive the class. The class was a huge commitment, and I’m happy with the outcome, I’m just having a hard time reentering the Earth. The dust bunnies are taunting me, my to-dos are flashing at me in bold face type, my running shoes are making fun of me, my kids are pulling me under… and I need some balance, that is hiding around here somewhere.
Earlier this month we got a ton of snow. That, and the start of a ‘white spring’ made me nutty. Add on top of that, a cabaret play I saw called, She’s Crazy, that brought out some raw emotions. It was about mental illness, informative/funny/sad… one of the actresses had a bipolar.
Oh! And I had a birthday. Hello 37. Older and wiser, yet still so young. Young enough to realize the successes that I still want in my life. That’s nice.
As I sit here pounding on the keyboard while everyone else in my house sleeps, I am muddling through my thoughts trying to figure out how to organize my day and the rest of this week.
I had an appointment with my psychiatrist yesterday, oddly enough. I know I’m not doing that great at the moment, and I think she picked up on it, but I don’t want any med changes. (I WILL however talk about my thoughts in therapy on Friday, I haven’t been in a while and it’s coming at a good time). Between the class ending, the weather, a new season, my birthday… and I hate to say it, but it’s already creeping into my thoughts… the 10-year anniversary of the Virginia Tech shooting… and I’m a little shaky.
One thing that annoyed me at my appointment yesterday was that now all of a sudden my psychiatrist wants to get me ‘off’ the very, low-dose benzo that I take a night, occasionally, if I am having trouble sleeping. I’m like WTF (in my mind), it’s working!! And now you want to change it?!?! That’s a whole long story, maybe one for later, but it made me mad. My sleep schedule is about as good as it gets and now she wants to throw me a curve. I don’t get it.
This morning I have a mindful mom’s writing meeting. Good. Our last ‘assignment’ was to write a letter to ourselves. After much procrastination I wrote my letter yesterday. It was weird. I basically told myself to keep ‘believing’ that my writerly life will fall into place.
I think now, maybe I need to set a new intention. For 10-weeks all of my writing energy was focused on the class. Now I need to figure out, do I stay on a ‘break’? Do I start writing here again? Do I closet journal? Do I exchange emails with friends? What?
First — I need to put my house back together. But I HAVE to create a writing space too, re-paint the ‘room’ or something. Sometimes I think, Maybe I’ll just quit writing for a year. But then things start to get back-logged in my mind and I start getting sick. Medication will only get you so far. Writing is certainly a coping mechanism for me, an outlet… and I feel like I revisit this often… but I struggle, because is there talent in there too? Where/when does the ability to succeed and publish emerge?
Beyond writing my little girl needs me. She won’t start Kindergarten for another year-and-a-half, That means we’re tied together. It’s a wonderful time, her warm, little hand often in mine. And as long as I’m a stay-at-home-mom, her hand will always squeeze harder than my writing. But man, it’s a tug-of-war sometimes. When my son gets home from Kindergarten, he starts squeezing my other hand. My writing starts gripping me in the shoulders and around the neck. I’m trying to balance dinner on my head. And before bed, when I try to ‘slip into something more comfortable’ I realize I need to do laundry.
Get me outta this cage!!!! (Hehe).
There’s an intention, hyphenated at that. Fancy.
I need to re-focus on one thing at a time until I adjust to a new routine. Until I adjust to spring, a wonderful season really.
Can I getta a little sun please?
Maybe I’ll have to wait for summer for that.
I’ll approach the rest of this week, mindful of the daylight and the rain, and things will fall into place. ‘Balance’ will peak its happy eyes out from under a rock that’s free from the burden of winter. New buds will sprout yellow. Purple-bellied robins will soar in straight lines.