The Crappy Depressing Post

Friends, readers of the blog, various and sundry people whose membership in those two groups might tend to waver on a moment to moment basis… Hopefully you have seen evidence this far that, in general, I keep it pretty lighthearted ’round these parts. Sure, I cover a serious topic now and again, and tell a story that gets a bit gruesome from time to time, but overall, I don’t publicly dwell on negativity.

I suspect that is part of the reason I have maintained the not-inconsiderable footprint I have on Twitter. Half a thousand followers is nothing to sneeze at, even if so,ex of those are businesses or porn bots or porn bot businesses.

I have ceased following several accounts on Twitter due to extreme negativity in the posts found there. Frankly, I have just enough empathy squirreled away in the dark recesses of my heart that, when I see someone suffer a public breakdown, it makes me feel like crap. And I don’t want to do that to you.

I am not doing that now, to be fair, but to be fair, this post from here on out will be moody and probably a bit whiny in ways. I recommend moving on. Instead of reading, spend the same amount of time it would take to watch this video of a man playing the Star Wars theme on pipe organ. Seriously, it’s awesome.

The td;dr version is: Life sucks and I need to get over it.

It’s hard out there for a writer.

This seems to be part and parcel with the decision to pursue such a strange profession. Still, knowing this anecdotally and experiencing it are, of course, different things entirely.

(This may be a strange coincidence, but I’ve heard anecdotes about the difference between anecdote and experience. Could be something to that…)

Trying to write full time has never been really easy for me. Often it’s fun, and my habits are slowly forming into a loose approximation of what they should be, but it’s always easier to not write. To not create. To not bother.

I have a lot of video games. I have tv streaming capabilities that would have wowed anyone ten years ago. I have books to catch up on. I have chores to do.

Usually, I can push past all that. Some days I wait till the very end of the day to push the other concerns aside, but the desire to keep writing outweighs the desire to just sit and do nothing.

It is easier, I am finding, to push past the mundane distractions, the distractions that are easy to anticipate. I will always have basically the same books, tv, games scrambling for attention. The office will always need to be cleaned up and I should probably get something to eat.

The more sinister distractions, for me, are the ones that sneak up in plain sight but don’t reveal themselves to be problems till the end. Suddenly, finding a new place to live is a very immediate and important distraction. That means finding gainful employment in the new area.

These are relevant distractions, things that need my time and attention. They are not enough to stop me from doing my writing, until…

Until the problems arise.

When I can’t find a job where I need it, even after a seemingly successful interview. When the apartment complex that seemed a perfect fit for us rejects our application. Both are gut punches on their own, but to have both in a week seems especially harsh.

I’m feeling bitter and helpless and hopeless, and on top of that, I am angry with myself for having those feelings instead of more useful ones.

Why can’t I have a mental snap that reverts me into “I’ll write all the books this month to show you all” mode? That sounds helpful.

Instead, I am tired. And kind of depressed.

I have heard all about channeling anger into something more useful, like splitting firewood or something. This doesn’t seem to work for resentment, anxiety, weariness. Nothing particularly good ever seems to come out of those, channeled or no.

Perhaps in the future, when one day I am able to take my adversity and channel it fully into my creative pursuits, I will have truly arrived as a writer.

In the meantime, I guess I’ll do what I always (for the last year at least) have done: slog forward through the ick and hope there’s some clearer water up ahead.

Because, seriously, at this point, my waders could use a wash.

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