Blank Spaces
The wind is still blowing. It's threatening to rain. The shorts and t-shirt weather of yesterday has retreated back to the bone-chilling lows of a few days earlier. All through the week the wind has carried the smell of smoke between the drafty cracks between my apartment doors and windows. Some of it has come from brush fires somewhere in the surrounding countryside; some of it has come from the neighbor smoking indoors and being unaware that his open windows and doors don't so much clear the smoke from his apartment as much as just push it into parts of mine (i.e.- my office space where I'm trying to work). Let's just say, it's a fitting scene for today.
Monday's makeup Blog ended on a proactive and positive note. If I'm honest, I really kind of impressed myself with the "can-do" attitude and proclamation of intent to move forward. As it turns out, it helps to wear boots if you're going to pull yourself up by your bootstraps. I personally have always been more of a barefoot or sandals kind of guy. Perhaps you can see the problem.
Last week was a brutal blow all around. The convention, while a fun "work-cation," was physically and psychologically taxing (especially for my introvert self). The time change has screwed with me more than I've realized. I mindlessly sabotaged myself over the weekend by drinking excessive amounts of pop ("soda" or "coke" for some of you readers) without realizing the effects that the withdrawal would have on me again as I entered into this week. Did I stop to acknowledge or accommodate any of these setbacks? Hell no! I tried to plow right on through it all!
I restarted my current editing and proofreading phase. I made some adjustments and corrections that I missed the first time on the content I reviewed. Progress was slow, but more or less achieved. For the most part, though, this week has admittedly been a bust. Part of me is frustrated and angry by the snail's pace I've moved at during this week. That part doesn't comprehend why we haven't gotten further in our current editing phase. That part is furious that we haven't found a solution to our publishing dilemma. That part is also criticizing the time I've spent doing things besides work. "You've got mountains of shit to do, boy! Why aren't you doing it?" (That part is an asshole.)
The answer is, I'm tired. I'm weary. I'm soul sick and heartbroken. But instead of giving myself time to recover or regroup, I've fallen back into my old toxic habits and thoughts: "Don't be sad, be productive. The only way out is through. Emotions are for people who don't have better things to do with their time. Crying never fixed a problem. Sleep when you're dead. The only one you can count on is you, so you'd better just plan on doing it yourself. Asking for help is a sign of weakness."
Two steps forward, three steps back, I guess. At least this time around I can see what's happening. I don't have to remain the victim of my own self-abuse anymore. I can do something to change the direction I'm heading.
I'm going to take some time, pause, and hit the reset button. I have some books I need to read and some reviews I need to do. I have a plan I need to make and evaluate instead of just reacting to the circumstances that have been thrown at me. I'm going to sabotage the abusive control freak inside of me by relinquishing control of what's beyond my influence and focusing on what I can do to help myself. I'm going to allow myself time to heal rather than put a mental baid-aid on everything and hope for the best that it holds. I've seen what happens if I don't take care of me. The results are not pretty, and it took two years of pretty extensive therapy to repair. I owe it to myself to not make the same set of mistakes again and apply what I learned from those experiences. I'm a survivor, it's what I do.
The ironic part is, I didn't think I had anything to really say in today's Blog. As it turns out, my blank space wasn't so empty after all. In fact it proved to be one of the most important things I could have written so far (at least for me). Go figure.
