(thanks, belle & sebastian.)
It feels like my words have dried up lately. On vacation last week, I was so excited by the prospect of HOTEL WRITING. Of jaunting off to the next door fancier resort, procuring an iced coffee, and scribbling out 1000 words before Hollywood Studios even OPENED.
That was the dream.
It seems, however, the reality is this:
I am tired and all of my words are gone (for now, I hope). I do not have the spoons for plays, for fanfiction, barely for this blog post.
And- though it scrapes my bones and makes me want to scream- maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s okay to consider this a period of rest. Of refilling my gay little creator satchel and deciding where to go next.
I have three part-time jobs right now and, as someone close to me suggested, no career. I disagree. I am a writer. I am a theatre artist. I will get there again.
Here’s the new plan (have you noticed how much I love plans?):
I’ve just gotta make it to Dragon Con, whether we have it or not.
Just gotta make it to Labor Day weekend with my guts and heart intact and then, maybe, it’ll be time to check back in and re-evaluate.
Maybe I won’t write another word of fiction until then, which, truthfully, makes me want to fucking WAIL. Maybe I will have to work against the ugly voices in my own brain and consider what it would be like to… I don’t fucking know, enjoy things again?
Maybe I’ll read a book. Maybe I’ll finally watch The Witcher. Maybe I’ll draw you a picture.
Maybe maybe maybe.
What I have to most forcefully remind myself is that I am not letting anyone down by needing rest. It is a hard thing to absorb, to believe. But I have been treading these shame-fighting waters for so long and I need to lay my head down on the beach and sleep and make friends with hermit crabs.
I hope you will forgive me.