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Slithering into view
May. 6th, 2011 03:52 pmI feel like I've developed Adult Onset Hyperactive Disorder. And yes, I think I just made the term up, but who knows, maybe it's real! But for the intent of this post, I'm going to take credit for it.
See, I haven't been able to focus on much of anything. Except playing games. Spider Solitaire and Bubble Town being my brain-death-of-choice. I can concentrate for hours on that. But sit to write? No how, no way. Read? Sometimes, but boy that story better grab me by the throat and threaten to rip it out right away, or else I'm tripping back to my game, dude.
It's gotten past the point of frustration and zapped right into downright disgust. But it doesn't matter, because I can ignore all that while I try to aim those little blorbs at the right spot. I don't think I'm depressed. Discouraged I guess, to the point of not wanting to try.
And that makes me angry. I've been reminded today that all over the world, every second of every day, someone is dying or trying not to, and wishing they had more time to do all the things they so very much wanted to do. And here I sit, time heavy on my hands, and fritter it away, not getting anything accomplished. That's just so wrong.
Although I'd like to state here and now that I resolve to change my attitude, I'm not about to make so public an announcement. (Because, yes, of course, *millions* of people read this blog!!!!) Because I'm not having a lot of faith that I'll do better right away.
I have been catching up on short story reading. I've read 2 of 3 Realms of Fantasy issues and am almost through the latest Shimmer.
I do plan to write for 2 hours a day excepting for Mon and Tues when I have the grandkids -- unless I want to write those days in the evenings, but I'm not going to hold myself to two hours. Now to set up a spreadsheet with a time log, because otherwise I won't hold myself accountable and will slither back to slothliness.
Over and out.
See, I haven't been able to focus on much of anything. Except playing games. Spider Solitaire and Bubble Town being my brain-death-of-choice. I can concentrate for hours on that. But sit to write? No how, no way. Read? Sometimes, but boy that story better grab me by the throat and threaten to rip it out right away, or else I'm tripping back to my game, dude.
It's gotten past the point of frustration and zapped right into downright disgust. But it doesn't matter, because I can ignore all that while I try to aim those little blorbs at the right spot. I don't think I'm depressed. Discouraged I guess, to the point of not wanting to try.
And that makes me angry. I've been reminded today that all over the world, every second of every day, someone is dying or trying not to, and wishing they had more time to do all the things they so very much wanted to do. And here I sit, time heavy on my hands, and fritter it away, not getting anything accomplished. That's just so wrong.
Although I'd like to state here and now that I resolve to change my attitude, I'm not about to make so public an announcement. (Because, yes, of course, *millions* of people read this blog!!!!) Because I'm not having a lot of faith that I'll do better right away.
I have been catching up on short story reading. I've read 2 of 3 Realms of Fantasy issues and am almost through the latest Shimmer.
I do plan to write for 2 hours a day excepting for Mon and Tues when I have the grandkids -- unless I want to write those days in the evenings, but I'm not going to hold myself to two hours. Now to set up a spreadsheet with a time log, because otherwise I won't hold myself accountable and will slither back to slothliness.
Over and out.
