Recently, it feels like I am such a failure at everything. And when you feel that way, it is so hard to write about it. Since that’s all I’ve been talking about lately anyway, it gets pretty old. And if it’s bugging me, it certainly must not be fun for you to read about.
And yet… it is my reality. All I see are the things I haven’t done. Projects I haven’t finished, things I have failed my son and husband in, my messy house, a stack of books I haven’t read, filing and laundry and dishes to be done…
I used to be (and feel) so organized. I was on top of everything most of the time. And now, if it weren’t for automatic billpay, we’d probably be without living quarters or utilities. I just can’t seem to get it together.
It’s hard to admit. Hence, the ongoing silence. What do I say without sounding like I’m just whining? AGAIN? It’s still my reality right now. All I see right now as I look around is everything I haven’t done yet. Every misstep. Every failure.
Having trouble tonight, thinking of something to say. I’m a bit preoccupied with things. We have some friends coming into town, only it’s not a happy occasion due to a death in their family. Thanksgiving is rapidly approaching. As is our son’s second birthday. I’m mostly enjoying writing every single day, although I obviously can’t be brilliant every day (hey, I would take being brilliant once every couple of weeks, thank you).
I could do a bunch of freewriting and eventually come up with something, but that would bore you (& probably me) to tears.
I’m frustrated. What’s new? My dad and his brothers were all storytellers. And hysterically funny. Why am I not able to do that, too?
I’m mad at myself for being so dissatisfied with me and what I have. I see other writers succeeding and I am happy for them. But then I turn a critical eye to myself and wonder why I’m not finding opportunities like that. Why I’m not a better writer. Why I don’t have more traffic and can’t build up an audience. I’m so busy beating myself up that I can’t see a way out of it – a way to improve what I’m doing.
I get so jealous of moms who get to stay home without working. Oh, the things I could do with my son if I didn’t have to sit in a chair 5-7 hours a day and work my tail off to barely get by. But I knew this going in. I knew this when I quit my job to work from home. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I knew we’d have a tight budget. I just wanted to spend the time with my son.
Here’s the thing though. I’m not really sure how quality that time is. And I wonder if he’d be better off in daycare. With other kids to interact with and a structured schedule. And someone besides mommy all day. He has no other kids to play with.
So I either need to buck up and find some better paying work (writing gigs that pay better than the ones I’ve been getting) or suck it up and get a job. Not something I want to be thinking about right now.