It has been a rough two days with very little sleep, several ocular migraines (not painful, just annoying) and too much work. I'm ready for another vacation. Reviews are caught up and I've been cooking and baking almost every day, but I still feel restless. I can't seem to sit still or work effectively and my attention span is about as long as a five-year-old on Ritalin overdosing on sugar. I've been working in spurts and doing practically everything in spurts: dishes, laundry, sleeping, showering, cleaning, etc. Problem is that I can't quite pin down the source.
The weather has been cool and rainy with periods of clear sunshine and that's my favorite kind of weather, next to crisp fall and winter days. I'm just not made for the heat. My life is pretty settled and Don finally headed home without having found a place he really wants to buy. I don't think he's really serious about buying unless I agree to marry him and that's not likely to happen, although after the past few days I'd almost be ready to give in and marry him just so I didn't have to struggle so much. Yeah, that thought lasts about 30 seconds until I contemplate the rest of my life without any freedom or time to myself, and I need time to myself. I feel like Carrie when Aidan moved in and was in her face from the moment she walked in the door. It would be worse for us because we both work at home. One good thing about that would be that I'd get out and walk more and probably start walking and never come back. The whole idea makes me want to take up a friend's dream of being a hobo.
No, I don't want to get married any time soon no matter what my mother says about dying alone or how much Don ups the ante by promising me financial security and time to write. If I don't get it for myself, I certainly won't be happy having someone hand it to me on a silver platter. It wouldn't feel right. I either make it on my own or win the lottery. There are no other options as far as I'm concerned. It's the reason I'm still poor. I've been offered many opportunities to be taken care of, and I've always turned them down. As much as I admire the high class working girl, it's just not me. I made my peace with that a long time ago.
Maybe my restlessness is due to having so many things under control and not having to struggle nearly as much. I'm used to being a little behind (not to be confused with the ample behind that follows two days behind me, that's another issue altogether) and not feeling deadlines looming like hungry buzzards circling the dying is a little too much for my system -- or a little too little pressure.
This should be a good time for me since things are starting to come together. I have the kind of relationship I want (mostly) and my manuscripts are getting good results with publishers. More of my work is being published and editors are offering to buy more articles. That's what's wrong. I'm used to running against the wind and with little or no wind I'm succumbing to the laws of physics and obviously about to fall on my face. Well, that and having people telling me that I have touched their lives in little ways. I can't handle the compliments; I'm used to criticism from every quadrant. See? Nothing to push against, no uphill battles, no harangues, no fuss and no tempests in teapots, just smooth sailing. I've become so used to the struggle I don't know what to do with myself when the struggle is over. I need a new hobby. Time to get back to learning French or something more difficult like Portuguese. Maybe Farsi or Hebrew or Mandarin Chinese. Yeah, that's the ticket.
That is all. Disperse.