I haven’t been writing much lately, and I am extremely frustrated by that.
For quite some time, I’ve been chalking it up to the nefarious ‘life’ which always seems to get in the way.
Tonight, however, instead of moaning and complaining about how little time I get to write, I thought I’d sit down and actually write something 🙂 Yeah, I know, sort of a novel idea.
What fascinated me when I began writing tonight was that, in the process of writing, I began to develop a better comprehension of where I’ve gone wrong in my writing pursuits. I’m sure I could have paid someone some very good money to tell me that the cure for the ‘writing blues’ was to write. Or, at the very least, had I bothered to go to any of the vast number of writing oriented web sites to which I have bookmarks, I’m sure I would have eventually stumbled upon some sage advice that, when boiled down to its essential elements, would have been summed up in the phrase “if you want to write, write!”
But that’s not me. I like to stumble across things the hard way.
So, as I began to write, and contemplate what has kept me from writing, I realized that in writing, much as in walking or other such activities, I like to have in existence a very particular set of circumstances. Circumstances without which I generally will not begin the process of writing.
For example, with walking, I like for it to be not too hot, not too cold, not raining, not dark, not too early, and not too late. Oh, and sufficient time that I can change my planned itinerary and add a segment here or there should I choose to do so.
With writing, my requisite circumstances appear, initially, to be rather easily obtainable.
I like to write when I’m in a good space, when I don’t anticipate interruptions, and when I am not half asleep.
Therein lies the challenge. Because times that meet all of those criteria have been scarce lately.
The primary culprit is the whole ‘being in a good space’ component of my finicky brain.
And that’s when it all started to congeal for me. I know the exact cause of my melancholy of late – I’m in another one of my “I hate my job” ruts.
Actually, I think I’m in more of a canyon than a rut. I’ve been here before, and, once I get over my little pity party, I’m sure I’ll bounce my way back out. The first step, as we all know, is recognition. That’s the part that I’ve stumbled upon tonight, as I began writing about all the life stuff that has been keeping my writing, and in actuality, all of my fun stuff, at bay. But it isn’t ‘life’ that has been sabotaging my writing (and my other enjoyable stuff in life), it’s that nasty, pesky work. If you’ve not read it, please make your way to the Casey-dictionary and look up the definition of – work.
Lately, I have been engaging in all of the familiar “I hate my job” activities, which so clearly and succinctly point to a diagnosis of being in an “I hate my job” rut. The very same rut which leads to not being in a good space, and always being half asleep. You know, the very circumstances under which I don’t like to write.
So, what are the activities indicative of the “I hate my job” rut?
It starts with the pleasant daydreams about getting fired, due to no fault of my own, and being told not to come back the next day. Those daydreams are short lived and ultimately unfulfilling. If I’m going to daydream, I’m sure I can come up with something better than that 🙂
The next phase is a brief perusal of job openings in my career field.
That just makes things worse, because there are no openings in my career field.
The true sign of being in an “I hate my job” rut is the next step, the one where I sift painfully and repeatedly through the help wanted classifieds and open up negotiations with my husband about exactly how much money we could really do without.
The final straw, the part that always awakens me to the fact that I’m in a true, bona fide, “I really hate my job” rut is the part where I contemplate exciting and brave new career opportunities.
I’ve always thought I’d look good behind a burger counter somewhere.
Perhaps I didn’t give bagging groceries quite the chance it deserves.
Hey, give me a Tigger costume and I’ll totally stand outside the mattress store with a big sign telling you what a deal you can get on a bed bug infested, quality, pre-slept mattress!
It’s during moments like these when I truly mourn the vast array of career options I forsook to pursue a career in nursing.
Admittedly, deep down inside, I am grateful to have a job, and I know there are many people who are currently unemployed who would be very grateful to have my job.
But let’s face it, work is work, most of us do it for the cold, hard cash. Most of us work because we kind of need to. And that’s the problem.
We have to work. We just do.
Yet when work is getting me down, it isn’t work that gets the short shaft, it’s my writing and rolling and other fun pursuits.
Basically, the one thing I have to do, which is the one thing I would choose not to do (you know, if I won the lottery) yet it is the only thing that doesn’t get the short shaft when it is the thing that is making me miserable.
Hey, go and read the Casey-dictionary definition of work now and tell me you don’t agree with it!
So, yeah, today’s post is definitely not in keeping with the spirit of my journey of Tiggerhood. Or is it? Tigger’s bound to go through ruts, right?
Time for Tigger therapy!
Tomorrow I’m going to stop and sing the Tigger song every hour on the hour while I’m at work.
That will either help me to channel some positive Tigger energy, or it will get me fired, either way, I will likely find myself in the very specific set of circumstances I require for writing!