I have some time management, organizational and motivational problems. And by "problems", I simply mean I am incapable of doing anything. Apparently. I've had more free time and the only thing I'm actually doing "more" of is sleeping. I feel just like the best rested gal on Long Island.
Excepting this morning. Maybe it was a mistake to listen to Beck's new album on the way to work. One of the songs has a chorus that just repeats the word 'isolation' over and over again. For someone who already feels a little dead during rush hour, putt putting along among faceless blobs incongruous to the natural order of things, inside their little metal cages (to which they are slaves), it was not the best choice. Geez. Could it be possible I need MORE sleep?
But that's not how I want this entry to go. I'm not feeling morose or even particularly panicked about my mortality. In fact, I've been riding a pleasant wave of contentment lately and despite distrusting it, I'm enjoying it immensely. As I was typing this I got an instant message from my brother saying, in a totally unsolicited way "I've been meaning to tell you something. You are like a different person now that you've left that one job. Keep it up." I'm often so inside my own head that I never even consider what I'm projecting to everyone else. It was nice to hear. Shit, it is nice to feel.
The trouble is, I have time now. And I'm superb at making plans to make plans and projects to give projects beginnings. My closets and my drawers and my surfaces overflow with clutter and I'm positive that all I need to do is hack through them all with sheer determination and perhaps a machete and I'll find...er...something. Something that will get me motivated to do...something? Am I really going to do this, dear reader? Am I really going to channel all the erstwhile negative, complaining energy into sleep? Worse yet, misdirect it into nothing?
No. No I am not. I will however take applications for life coach, time manager, and motivational speaker. Requirements: A pleasant, optimistic demeanor that is stalwart in the face of my unrelenting pessimism. You should be available for me at most times, though I suspect I'll mostly want you to watch movies with me and talk about season finales. I like my coffee French pressed and then I like that press cleaned and NOT after sitting for two days in the sink. I require someone to talk me out of holding on to dresses that are too big for me, shoes that are too uncomfortable and party purses that have been rendered wholly unnecessary by my increasingly quiet lifestyle. I'll need you to empty out my spam folders and sift through online dating profiles, separating wheat from chaff from psychopaths. You'll have to stop by unannounced during quiet hours to make sure I'm writing and not falling asleep to old episodes of Family Guy and it would help me greatly if you could go to the supermarket for me once every two weeks to do big shops instead of the 10 times a week for two items at a time that is my current flow chart model. I mean yesterday I had to go to buy one potato, ferchrissakes! Mostly, I'll just need you to give me that warm feeling, on a Tuesday morning, say, that what I'm doing is okay and that plenty of writers never wrote anything worth a damn until they were older than 40 and that you've taken care of clipping the cats' nails and that you'll have an ice cold kir waiting for me when I get home.
Only serious applicants please.
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