This rant, extended whine, or whatever you want to call it is brought to you on behalf of a demanding day job, a parent who insists on phoning every night and just sitting on the phone occupying my time for close to an hour, and – as always – the joys of narcolepsy.
Lately, I’m having hell’s own time getting anything done at home. I try to write something each day, but when I get home, have dinner, have the Daily Skype Call From Hell in which my beloved mother whines at me until either I fall asleep at the computer or I find an excuse to end the damn call, then by the time I’ve recovered from that I’m falling asleep again and there goes yet another night.
Yes, I’m whining. Writing, as well as being something I want to do full-time when my income from it justifies that, functions as my stress-release. If I can’t write, stress backs up and things get ugly.
It doesn’t help that I’m too bloody nice. Yes, you read that correctly. The Kate, charter member of the Evil League of Evil, is too nice. I’m just very selective about who I’m nice to, and my mother happens to be in that list (Yes, I love her dearly. But I love her much better on the opposite side of the planet and in small, well-spaced doses. She is, as they say, high maintenance). I can tell people I don’t care about where to put their stupid and irritating. I can’t do that to my mother.
Which leaves me ranting over nothing in particular because when I finish sleep-typing (it totally is a thing: I do it all the time) and schedule this to post at not-quite-oh-god-is-that-the-time in the morning (I get up at really-oh-god-is-that-the-time in the morning, in order to get to work and have a couple of hours more or less uninterrupted work time before the crazy starts, so the posts get written and scheduled the night before), I’ll be taking my night time medications and going to bed. With, yet again, absolutely buggerall done.
The worst of this is that writing wants to happen. Things are running through my mind. But every goddamn time I sit down to do anything, I get interrupted. My mother calls (every bloody night – and if I dare ignore or miss the call, I get the interrogation the next time I do pick up. She must have been in the bloody Gestapo in a previous life, because she does not give up, just keeps nagging and nagging until she gets what she wants out of me).
On the narcolepsy front, I have a limited useful time each day and each week. If I push too much or I’m not well, my brain just flat does not work. I can and do get to a point where I can stare at the screen and have no idea how to type a simple sentence. Most of the time I can work with this, and I do. Sometimes – like right now – it gets overwhelming and I share the joy with anyone who’s willing to put up with it. Then I apologize, pick up the pieces and try to move on.
So, yeah. Sorry for the whining. If all goes well, I’ll be back to my normal self next week (not that it will matter, what with Christmas usually being rather dead-ish here, as it should be). In the meantime, try not to let life wear you down and enjoy the show the glittery ones are putting on for your enjoyment (the latest target is heavy metal bands, so bring plenty of popcorn).