I have very little for you today.
I've been tripping around the Internet this week and feeling down and irritated about the state of my blog. And also irritable in general, which my poor, put-upon husband can attest to.
I've been having my dreams, my usual weird funky stupid death dreams, and last night (in my dream) I was taking part in a user-experience survey led by a friend who does contract work for user-experience stuff. To participate, I had to plug myself into a machine that completely changed how I looked. It was explained to me that this helped eliminate bias from the study.
When I changed my appearance, I was super-hot. I was like a young Robin Wright-Penn. In my dream, I stood in front of a mirror and touched my face - my new cheekbones and perfect eyebrows.
I've been thinking about cleaning my kitchen sink for about five days now. And also about going for a walk. And writing more. Much more.
I've been reading chick lit books - it's my genre - and wondering exactly how long this whole book-writing thing is supposed to take. And then wondering if there will come a day when I actually feel OK about the book. And then wondering if there will come a day when it will be published or I will self-publish.
There will. I know that.
A few months ago my gynecologist asked me what genre my book falls into and I said chick lit and he stopped asking questions. First of all, why are gynecologists so nosy? And secondly does he think I am writing a romance novel? Oh, and thirdly, can we cut the chit-chat out of gynecological exams and just get that shit over with?
I can barely think straight because there is too much shit in this room I am sitting in. It's smothering.
My friend Christina, with whom I ruminate at length about the state of my laziness and why it seems impossible to diet/exercise/clean/motivate in general, mentioned the three legged stool theory, which I was not familiar with but which boils down to this:
You can really only adequately focus on three areas of your life at any given time. So could my three things be: My relationships, my book, and my blog? Or is my blog not enough to be a leg on the stool? Is the house a leg of the stool? If I want to exercise, does something else suffer? Does my problem really boil down to simple lack of motivation and laziness?