A Sleepy Situation

Why do I sleep when I could be writing? How will I ever succeed, if I constantly sabotage myself? 

Here’s what I know: 

  1. I sleep a lot because my anti-anxiety medication makes me fall asleep after breakfast. 
  2. I watch a lot of TV, which takes up the time I would like to be writing.
  3. I think stories a lot more than I write them. 
  4. This is all very frustrating.

I would never want to stop taking the meds to be less sleepy, because then I’d be anxious and depressed all over again. And still not writing.

At first, the meds made me write. They gave me energy, and I felt excited by the prospect of getting back to the typewriter. I had avoided taking anything for my depression because I had believed that my creativity would be cut off. So I had great hope.

But now, a year later, I’m just sleepy, and at least 15 pounds heavier. I don’t mind the extra weight, but I do mind the sleeping. 

Why not try to fight it, you say? I feel like I do fight it, but I am not winning the battle.

I know. I seem to be a broken record, from post to post I write about the same theme, that of writing about not writing. I am hoping to work it out, and I guess it will take me a while. I see my doctor next week on an unrelated matter, and I plan to bring up this sleepy situation. 

I do know this: I will never stop trying to write. I surround myself with notebooks, and am always writing my outlines and ideas in them.  I am sure I will succeed soon. In fact, this is a better goal than writing a certain amount of words a day: to keep on trying. 

That’s what I’m doing. Just let me take another nap first. 

Saturday Night’s All Right for Procrastinating

I actually have written more than 690 words. This stat is from April’s Camp NaNoWriMo project. I started the project during last November for NaNoWriMo.

Even my writing app, Writeometer, knows I’m no good. I am horrible at keeping any kind of writing schedule, and this app is happy to let me know it. Because of the subject matter of the project in question, I’ve set a goal date to be finished with a first draft for April 18, 2017.

I missed that. Now, the app is glad to tell me that I’ll be missing that goal for years to come if I don’t buckle down.

See? Here I am not writing my novel draft, yet I have plenty of motivation to write a post about my friend Procrastination. I have also just updated my journal for the past week ( I just plain don’t have the energy most nights to keep up) and now I am ready to read before crashing in a few hours.

All the while, the writing project is in the back of my brain, muttering and wringing its hands, wondering if I am am ignoring it on purpose. I suppose I kind of am ignoring it. But the project ought to be used to that by now. Yet I feel the waves of failure wash over me. 

If I had a secret that would let me sit and write, I’d be a happy, productive soul. Of course, I know that secret: sit your ass in the chair and do the work. I have heard that voice for so long now, it’s really become an old friend.

Or a frenemy.

Either way, I think I will delete that damn app. Who does it think it’s talking to, anyway? 

Maybe I’ll write for an hour before lights out tonight. Don’t judge me, Writeometer.  I think I know me better than you do. 

I’ll live another day to (think about/attempt to/take a weak stab at) this writing thing. And to heck with your word counts. Word counts are for Wrimos, and I have proven four times over that I’m not a Wrimo. 

I’m just a depressed creative type who needs to get her mojo back. I’ll just be over here, looking for that. I am sure I lost it somewhere nearby.