Sometimes, I will be super hyped to do something and then my brain will be like “haha, no,” and then I end up sitting on the couch eating cereal straight out of the box and watching old episodes of Fringe. Oh depression, you vicious mistress.
So, I drag myself into the office and check my email and socials and try to prepare myself for the day. I open a word document to start writing and then suddenly there is a garbage truck outside my door, banging and clanging its way slowly down the street. No hope for concentration, so I pop over to Submittable to check on my poetry submissions. No change. Ho-hum.
Then, to the blog! Alas, no topic. Nothing, because depression ate it, like a hungry teenager raiding the refrigerator in the middle of the night.
I can’t focus my thoughts. I look at my yellow umbrella that hangs off the bookshelf to my left and think that I should have taken it to the beach with me on Saturday. I look at the star on the wall that says “One Day at a Time,” and I think gee that’s great, now someone give me a cigarette! I look at the ceiling. There are cobwebs in the corner. Perhaps I should sweep them?
Anything, anything, anything but write.
After this, whatever this is, I am going to attempt to put my chicken-scratch notes on my chappie into type, Then, put those typed words into an email, and send it to my editor. Real, actual, needs-to-be-done work.,,but my serotonin levels don’t give a crap. I also want to work on new submissions since it is August now, but that seems like a faraway chore at the moment.
Oh, and I want to clean my house, because I had my four kiddos plus G this weekend and the joint is wrecked.
First, I guess, I will drink some coffee. I will be grateful that the street is now fairly quiet, and I can write and work in peace. I will sit here in this office chair until all my tasks are done, because while my brain and hormone levels and all that garbage may be telling me one thing, my heart is telling me another: you can do it.