But I’m sure as heck having a hard time with it.
And so maybe it’s just a control issue, maybe it’s my head, maybe I need happy pills, or maybe I really am more crazy than I’d hoped, but whatever it is, its impossible.
I’m sensitive and impatient and frustrated and insecure. I’m like a little baby fearing abandonment. Waaa, waaa, waaa. And I don’t even know why.
I wish it was a planetary issue, something to do with the stars and moon and other things that I’ve no control over. And then I could shrug and say, ‘okay, I’ve no control and I’m doing fine’, but nothing’s wrong (Mercury isn’t even in Retrograde yet) but I’m all crazy and intense and deeply uncomfortably thoughtful/introspective/difficult and it’d be fine if I was writing a masterpiece but I’m SITTING ON THE BEACH.
And yes, those caps were intentional. I’m shouting. Because that’s all I seem to do well now. Shout and cry and then question my sanity.
I think I had to become a writer. It was that or be comitted. It was that or listen to the squirrels rolling nuts around in my head because that’s what it feels like sometimes, all squirrels and nuts and noise and agitation. Why am I telling you this?
Because God forgive me, I need a blog.
If you notice dates, I haven’t posted a blog for twelve days and for twelve days I’ve struggled to think of something useful to say but there’s nothing useful in me. I’m just Jane with squirrels.
It’s Hawaii. After x-number of days of sitting in the sun, I am itching to attack something. I am all wound up with nowhere to go. My Type A personality is sometimes a massive liability and my full sympathies go out to Surfer Ty. I’m making him my project (I need something to do…) and he wishes I’d well, just write my book.
Maybe I should just write my book.
But oh, that would be too easy and then what would the squirrels do?