If I were a pro quarterback, you’d say I’ve been gripping as of late. So conflicted and stressed by unseen forces in my own mind that things formerly automatic now made me down, second guess and grit my teeth in frustration. Doubt and anxiety become good running buddies. Common sense and calm take a holiday in the French Quarter and stumble back about two beers short of alcohol poisoning.
More or less this is on two fronts: professional pride and my general mental state. Starting with the latter, let’s say that I’ve been in a real horrible funk as of late, but tonight seems to be the end of that. I’ve come to the realization during this week’s head shrinking session that I’ve been running away from responsibility, and with that, human contact. Maybe it was the time of year, talking about dead parents, that brush with the relationship I thought I had (starting to wonder if I misread that whole thing). Probably a combo. Whatever it was, it really had a good lock on my mind. Pray I’ve snapped its vicious little neck and left in dying somewhere in a gutter. Maybe that doesn’t happen unless I call the doctor and see about actually trying the meds. We shall see.
Separate from that has been the creative roadblock on all my personal works, which has crept ever so softly into my psyche at the office. I find it harder to believe that this is even happening, because stuff I’ve done recently for freelance turned out better than I could have hoped. But try to put that energy into my own sites, and suddenly I lock up. I want to do so much that I don’t know where to start, which means I never start. If somehow I do make some headway one evening, it’s only a matter of time before I change my mind and go in some other direction. Seriously, as a client, I suck.
Enough said. Time to work and recover.