Words to agent: 16,860
In the last month I have written about 10,000 words on the book…except it was mostly salvage from the first take. I have been working at it around 3 days a week, although I rise each day to do so. I have actually written about 3,000 fresh words. Sort of moderately-acceptable words, but words.
At times when I should be doing something else, I have been posting to the bad_sex community for fun, and, in the same period, wrote 3,860 words. 3,860 very good words.
I’ve written some wonderful stuff for the book. I have no question as to my basic ability to write. I am highly motivated to work on this. I’m not sure this is about the writing, although that is where I first noticed the avoidance behaviors.
I have exercised five times in the last month. No running at all.
I am reading very, very slowly, and in short bursts. I wander if I read very long.
I spent several weekends recreating because I said that I would. Then I spent weekends working on the irrigation system. Firewood is yet to come, the bathroom has not changed since we put mud up, nothing else has progressed.
Bridgette will go into her yearly torpor in another few weeks, when we start going to work before sunrise. Then I’ll pretty much be on my own to get anything done. If history is to be believed, I will do maintenance things without progressing any of the larger tasks. Then spring will come, and I’ll be back in the garden, and living in a hovel, and not exercising or writing or doing a damned thing I need to do.
I will live in squalor, unrealized and sagging, slowly growing softer and fatter and less energetic and eventually will be a lost middle-aged man, unlovely and cross, wallowing in my own morbid pale flesh, unable to concentrate or accomplish any damned thing that means anything to him.
…all right, now I’ve had a lovely vent, which is what I was seeking. When I vent, I generally say something about what is bothering me. What did I say? :reads:
I’m not working on the priorities I set. I’m working on what Othello & Bridgette need, or what I perceive they need. Othello did not ask me for as much recreating as we did; Bridgette has explicitely said that, if I need to work on the bathroom or write, she wants me to. So I don’t have to be pursuing what I’ve been pursuing.
Which means that I am behaving (as the more soft-spoken, erudite human behaviorists would say) like a dumbass.
All right. I’m depressed because I’m stupid. If I stop being stupid, maybe I can stop being depressed. Thinking, now.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry