Hello, lovely readers! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
Don’t worry. I know it has been. Honestly, I’m very sorry about that. The last few months have been crazy-crazy-crazy for me. You know why? Because I semi-lost myself, have acquired and am maintaining an office job, and have semi-found myself (again). It doesn’t sound like a wild ride, but it has at least been an emotional one, and that has to count for something. Right? Right? Anyone? Bueller?
The potential tedium of my standard office job is often overshadowed by the lovely people I’m surrounded by that actually make me not hate waking up in the morning, though that hasn’t stopped my day-to-day routine from boiling down into a sticky, concentrated mass of jokes that were promptly rejected from the lowest rated The Office episode. The slightly personal outrage I feel when people diss the pens I ordered from Staples that week, the slight lightheadedness mixed with nausea I feel when people spray a gallon of Bath & Body Works perfume in the bathroom, the sheer lunacy of coworkers being mad that other coworkers ate all of the Almond Joys out of the community candy bowl (ugh, ew), and the way I feel so ecstatic when Bagel Friday rolls around – these are all things that my friends never quite get the humor in, because until I started working here a few months ago, I never thought I would get it, either. In some ways, I guess I wish I didn’t understand why Jim looked at Pam with desperation during long, long, long days, but now I do.
There have been massive benefits to having a stable job. Before this, when I was piecing together an income through sometimes unreliable, sometimes wonderful, sometimes horrible, sometimes fantastic online freelance work that sometimes turned into full-time endeavors that left my soul utterly broken and decrepit, I think I had lost my love of writing. I’m not citing my ongoing work for Shoerazzi, which has been such a beautiful creative outlet with delightful people. I’m not talking about other one-off writing opportunities that left me feeling good about the content I can produce. I’m talking about the other work along the way, where I was shoehorned into writing four thousand words on frayed booty shorts and mink coats and then having to fight tooth and nail for proper and fair payment or even a modicum of respect and then laughing disparagingly about-slash-to myself, because freakin’ a, I had spent four thousand words on frayed booty shorts and mink coats and was trying to convince myself that it wasn’t a sitcom skit about Generation Y’s Tattered Dreams.
This job has allowed me to be creatively distracted; by no longer harping on myself about having to write every day, I feel like I’m actually getting the urge to write. Every day.
Honestly, it might not have been evident during my Vikings Season 2 recaps, but that was a very difficult time for me to write. It was so hard for me to put finger to keyboard and come up with anything remotely entertaining; while Ragnar was off dominating the battlefield with his crazy good looks (wait, that’s not why he wins all the fights he starts?), I was having my own miniature crisis. Why am I not funny? Why is this so hard when this used to be so easy? How do words work?
When the season ended, I was torn. All of the wonderful, affirming, and positive reinforcement that I received from my readers week after week would dry up. It made me feel so happy to get comments and to inspire conversations about the series in my comment section, it was awesome to see people interact with each other and to chime in. Regardless, the heavy sigh was also one of relief. Finally, my writing brain snarked, I can rest.
But, it didn’t quite rest. It went dormant. The urge to write or be remotely creative was zapped, vaporized. I wrote little things here and there, fiction pieces that no one but myself will read, but by and large the yearning for words I felt for years was gone. It worried me. When you’ve spent so much time expressing and feeling and thinking and everything-ing through words, a world without it is so much dimmer. Why couldn’t I produce content anymore? There was a certain guilt attached to it, knowing that I should be writing something, anything, to keep a good thing going, but when I opened that word .doc, nothing appeared. Trust me. Until Windows forcefully updated my computer and restarted, I had a document open with three words written on it…for five weeks.
Then, one day, while going through a giant stack of mail and opening what had to be the 200th envelope of the day, it came back. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to write. Write what? Who knows. But it was there. It still is there, and for that, I’m very stoked.
Is my long-term dream of being a bestselling author right around the corner? Probably not. But, this is a good start.
I hope this is the first in a string of updates that reconnects me to all of you. Hope to see you all soon!