I'm having a bad day. I could trace the origin to this bad day down several tangled roots: Being husbandless on my anniversary (not his fault, poor guy) Being stuck on my current revising project and the mounting pile of psychological gunk that goes along with that (more on this later.) Being drawn into a work project and a school volunteer project at the same time with the same force. Being unable to understand the way my 9 year olds mind work and being unable to help her when she doesn't understand herself either. But the origin, the twin rocks these bad day roots are wrapped around are doubt and her bastard child fear.
I don't have a manhattan job anymore, so I can't afford a manhattan therapist. But If I were sitting across from Ruth right now, plucking at the fringe on the throw pillow in my lap, here's what I'd say about Doubt:
I doubt that I'll ever get published.
I doubt that even if I do get published that it will be as good as the work of my peers.
I doubt there's a point to keeping this writing dream alive when I could be more productive, monetarily productive, doing something else.
I doubt that the time I spend in my fabricated worlds is worth the time I don't spend with my kids.
I doubt I have the stamina
I doubt I have the moxie
I doubt I have the talent.
But a doubt is really only as strong as a whisper, as substantial as a shadow. I'm hoping to bring the doubts out into the antiseptic sunshine. By sharing my doubts with you, I'm hoping to throttle the little bastards, as well as my little bad days. As the great Tom Waits says: