Don't Plant Your Bad Days - They Grow into Weeks

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.

I doubt.

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:

Photo: www.rollingstone.com

“I used to have some little bad days, and I kept them in a little box. And one day, I threw them out into the yard. "Oh, it's just a couple little innocent bad days." Well, we had a big rain. I don't know what it was growing in but I think we used to put eggshells out there and coffee grounds, too. Don't plant your bad days. They grow into weeks. The weeks grow into months. Before you know it you got yourself a bad year. Take it from me. Choke those little bad days. Choke 'em down to nothin'. They're your days. Choke 'em!”

Happiness is...

Pretty much overrated.

I'm taking my eight year old to DC this weekend, just girls. She's practically floating, giddy with anticipation. She talks about what she's packing, what she'll wear, what we'll see and how much of her saved money she should bring. She's anticipating her happiness and I have to clamp my mouth shut not to say "It's just one day, one night. It will be over in a blink."

Because for me, it's already Monday morning. I'm on to the next thing. I've always been this way, living in the future instead of the past or, as is extremely difficult, the present. I have trouble enjoying anything because I know how short lived it is. I think of it as disaster-preparedness. If I'm always anticipating the end, then I won't be disappointed.

The downside, of course is that by anticipating the end, by fast forwarding beyond the thing that might be fleeting or difficult, I've missed the bloody thing. 


I've been having dreams about my submissions. They're always weird (all my dreams are weird. I'm not able to have a dream where something surreal doesn't happen.) Sometimes they're rejections and sometimes they're requests for edits that are so ridiculous and impossible that it's worse than a rejection (or pass.) And all the time I'm churning, churning, trying to figure out how to triage the damage.

The thing that I'm missing by concentrating on what could be happening with my submissions (and what I have ABSOLUTELY NO control over) is the pretty damn good WIP I'm working on now. I showed it to my group and they were excited and hooked. They both said how much the writing has grown. This made me happy for about 10 seconds before thoughts (or dreams) of my submission process came in and made it rain.

Why is happiness so short lived? What do we expect to feel over our accomplishments? And why are we so quick to dismiss good feelings while lingering over bad ones? Easy to say human nature, but I think it's something else. I think we're conditioned to be fearful - at least I am.

There's a really interesting TED video on happiness by Dan Gilbert below. I think it's pretty savvy on how you could (but often don't) make your own happiness.

Bad Days - Insecure Writer's Support Group

I'm pretty sure I'm doing Alex Cavanaugh's blogfest, Insecure Writer's Support Group all wrong. Instead of writing inspirational stories of how I overcame some issue, I spend my post time moaning and whining and generally being miserable.

If you were hoping I'd say 'But not this time!' then you are going to be disappointed. Because I got no sleep last night and sleep makes me seriously half-empty.

My three year old came in to sleep with us, probably due to some post-halloween sugary imbalance. For about an hour I withstood her elbows and sticky hands on my face. Then I carried her to her bed and tucked her in. She was dead asleep. Then I tossed and turned for three hours, unable to get up, unable to play bookworm and unable to go back to sleep because I was busy worrying. I worried about finishing my revisions. I worried about how long it's been since I got a full request from my agent girl-crush that I still haven't sent because I'm not done revising (it's been six months. I suck). I mentally composed the email I'm going to eventually send to said agent when I'm ready, then discarded it as seriously stupid. I also managed to squeeze in some worry about the new wip I started for NaNo. It just goes to show how effective I can be as a multi-tasker when the task is worrying myself into an early grave.

Due to this lack of sleep, I'm completely useless today. I can barely keep my kids from playing in traffic. And my NaNo word count is hovering under 300. Today is a wash.

I know it will be better tomorrow after Tylenol PM has sorted out my insomnia, but I hate days like today. They seem like such an unnecessary waste. Do I need to have this total breakdown to get to some other 'better' place? Or, as aforementioned, do I just suck?

What about you insecure lot? What are your bad days like?