I wonder how many times I’m going to apologize for being terrible at this before I just get on with it. The point was to get into a habit of writing at the same time every day – the reality is that I’ve just managed to write for a few minutes a day, which is an improvement over the last few months. I’d eventually like to do a thirty minute free write in the morning, and then start thinking of pitches. The pieces I can’t sell will go here.
I’ve been saying that for two years.
I’ve been paid for creative work, and been in a few publications. In the meantime, I write for a social media content provider. Or it may be a content mill. Depends on who you ask.
I keep feeling the need to shout I AM A BETTER WRITER THAN THIS but that is not what this is about. Hopefully over the course of a month I will manage to create at least one essay that is worth a shit.
This will not be it. FYI.
I am not good with people. I am good with saying what people need to hear so they don’t feel bad, and want to hear so they will leave me alone. I know that I have qualities that not everyone loves, and the people I call friends have qualities that not everyone loves, and we just sort of flail along, hoping it all works out in the end. Sometimes I am struck by the sheer volume of shit I put up with from other people, sometimes I am equally struck with how off-putting I can be in the way I keep everyone at arms length. It makes me extra curmudgeonly.
Sometimes I think my friendships are only as strong as my willingness to tolerate the other person’s need to fix me.
And that isn’t much. I smile and nod and push them a little further away every time they try.
I struggle with anxiety, but I am functional. Competent. Smart, even. I KNOW! I need space to process, and the freedom to clear whatever ever hurdles I meet in my own way, without some “common sense” person tsk-tsking like a damn chicken and looking for a chance to tell me what I should do.
I don’t like to cook. I do like to eat. Sometimes my grasp exceeds my reach between the two. I don’t need some homemaker extraordinaire critiquing my tomato soup. I am absolutely certain that you are a better cook than I – but if you are offering unsolicited advice on something I made for you then you are kind of a jackass.
I use GPS to keep the asshole that lives in my head from convincing me that I missed my turn, even when I probably don’t need it. Some days are worse than others. I do not need you sitting there giving me impatient, half-assed directions because you can’t stand to not be in the drivers seat.
I talk really fast. It pisses me off when you make an issue or a joke out of it. No, “auctioneer” is not original, and if it was easy to control, don’t you think I’d just fucking do it? It’s not a reflection of my intelligence or lack of it.
Although I will admit that a job reading the legal disclaimers over the radio might be lucrative for me.
I don’t have to make sense to you. It is not your job to solve me.
Being understood is not the same thing as being fixed. I don’t want to just be tolerated.
Every emotion I have is not anxiety driven. Every time I get angry I am not “freaking out.” When I am sad, I am not “being emotional.” While I am definitely a worrier, one that allows what might happen tomorrow ruin the moment – not every worry I have is based in fantasy. I am allowed to worry about my children, my family, the future.
If you think you are doing me a favor by being my friend – it’s time for you to move on. Same goes for me.
Pragmatists. Can’t live with them, can’t convince them their help isn’t needed here.
Where was I?
*end free write*