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I'm still stuck on not wanting to write. I'm making myself do this in hope that if I vent about it, I'll be able to get beyond it. Or over it. Or something. Right now my life is going almost as well has it ever has in the last 5-6 years, the only obvious lacking is a girlfriend to spend time with (or even just a friend who happens to be a girl to spend any amount of time with on more than an occasional basis). My job is going well. I have not only positive cash flow, but some disposable income again. And for a change, my kids aren't needing or wanting me to dispose of it fast than I'm making it. I've been being social. I spent time on Sunday at the book fair with not one but two friends (they practically tag-teamed me). Tonight I got my haircut and had a nice conversation with my stylist (not that I have much left that needs styling), then went out for dinner. Tomorrow I'm going to a friend's house after work to see about helping with a house repair. Thursday I'm taking Brandon and maybe Mike to see "District 9".
I feel good about myself again. I feel good about my future for the first time in a very long time. I have hope. But what I don't seem to have is motivation to write. I don't think it's because I'm too busy, given the still stupid amount of time I spent goofing off on facebook and other internet time-sucks.
There's a lot going on in my life, and for a change, not all of it depressing. I'm contributing at work in ways that I've always wanted to, in large part because my manager is listening to what I have to say and then actually considering it. It's refreshing to be refreshing, if that's not too redundant. Because so many people have been there for so long, my job history (10 jobs in 22.5 years) is something of a novelty; but, it's also a source for examples, for counter-examples, and occasionally for insight. Except by the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is write about work.
Part of my problem is, undoubtedly, my commute. I think I'm about used to it. I'm not anxiously looking for my exit 3/4 of the way down in the morning anymore. I'm not in a rush to get out the door to beat the traffic home, and when I get here, I'm fairly relaxed. Or at least not stressed out. I've got the times better figured out about when to leave so I can deal with less of the stop-and-slow at the peak of rush hour. But at the end of the day, it's still been 11-12 hours from when I get up to when I walk back in the door and can stop clock-watching. And that, I think, is still wearing at me. And on that note, I gotta get to bed so I can get up seven hours from now and start it all over again.
I feel good about myself again. I feel good about my future for the first time in a very long time. I have hope. But what I don't seem to have is motivation to write. I don't think it's because I'm too busy, given the still stupid amount of time I spent goofing off on facebook and other internet time-sucks.
There's a lot going on in my life, and for a change, not all of it depressing. I'm contributing at work in ways that I've always wanted to, in large part because my manager is listening to what I have to say and then actually considering it. It's refreshing to be refreshing, if that's not too redundant. Because so many people have been there for so long, my job history (10 jobs in 22.5 years) is something of a novelty; but, it's also a source for examples, for counter-examples, and occasionally for insight. Except by the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is write about work.
Part of my problem is, undoubtedly, my commute. I think I'm about used to it. I'm not anxiously looking for my exit 3/4 of the way down in the morning anymore. I'm not in a rush to get out the door to beat the traffic home, and when I get here, I'm fairly relaxed. Or at least not stressed out. I've got the times better figured out about when to leave so I can deal with less of the stop-and-slow at the peak of rush hour. But at the end of the day, it's still been 11-12 hours from when I get up to when I walk back in the door and can stop clock-watching. And that, I think, is still wearing at me. And on that note, I gotta get to bed so I can get up seven hours from now and start it all over again.
