The Entry I Maybe Should Keep Private.

So, I got a job.

On one hand, it’s copywriting. So, like, neat. On the other hand, I have to figure out work/life balance. It’s full-time. If I stick with it for two and a half more months, I get benefits. I’m learning a lot of new things, a new system, practically a whole new vocabulary, so it’s feeding my brain right. It’s stable, has a fixed schedule, and it’s NOT dealing with customers all day or psychotic bosses that see you as expendable trash. But it’s still really hard.

For weeks I had been meaning to make a new blog post. I just haven’t been able to. It’s been a struggle to write. Has been for a while. I think I’m going through one of those… transitional states again.

Speaking of transitional, I started this blog post and then stopped to do some cleaning because we have an inspection coming up on Monday, so I have, once more, lost my initial thought and my initial steam. Frustrated with me yet again.

I’ve been hands-off with writing for a few months now. Initially, I took a break from everything because I needed to tend to my emotional and mental health, which also meant I had to let things gestate in a different direction. Then suddenly, I found myself kind of in survival mode where I wasn’t even thinking of my stories or characters. For four or five weeks, I hadn’t been thinking of my characters or worlds. If I did, it was a soft nagging of, “I want to focus on these characters. Not the other ones.” Then I started the new job and my brain has been voided by any thoughts relating to my projects. I can’t multitask. When I’m at work, I’m focused on work. When I get home, I’m still focused on work. I don’t feel like I’m allowed to relax? I take three hours to come down from the “work-brain” and then I have two hours to do anything I’d like before I have to go to bed at 11:30 just so I can get enough sleep to function at work.

Right now, I am contemplating going to sleep at 8 or 9 pm and then waking up at 3 in the morning to try and cultivate my writing practice.

This entry feels so disjointed. Now I’m just angry. Furious even.

Something isn’t sustainable, but I don’t know what it is and it’s severely affecting my ability to write. Is it me? Am I sabotaging myself? Is it this living condition? Do I need to feel free and safe enough to write? Is it the pressure of my relationship? Is it taking away my time to focus and write?

I’m scared. I’m scared I’m not an amazing writer. I have lost all confidence in my ability. It’s not even the rejection of not being published that’s paralyzing me. It’s the fear no one will ever enjoy what I write, or want to read more from me.

Maybe I am bad. Maybe I’m terrible. I’m a fraud. I can’t even bring myself to finish one thing. I want to blame other things in my life, but if I wanted to do the thing, I would do it, right? I would scrape as much time out of my life to do it. So, is it all futile? I’m supposed to want to write for myself, and just myself. I can’t bring myself to do it.