I’m sitting in my living room at home (aren’t most of us at home right now?), sharing a little bit of what’s going on in my head right now.
Of course, I’m feeling a little brain dead at the moment, what with our current health crisis, wide-scale panic, and anxiety at its max, poor leadership decisions, or plain inaction of morons in high places.
And like a lot of you, I’m feeling tremendously stressed out and overwhelmed.
I’ll willingly admit that stress, especially sustained periods of stress, can manifest into genuine physical problems — case in point. Yesterday, I drove into work feeling a little tired, but telling myself I would be fine. And I was until about two hours in and then suddenly my body revolted.
I developed intense pain on my left side just above my hip bone that was so sharp and persistent; I thought I was going to pass out.
I immediately told everyone I was going home and endured the thirty-five-minute drive back home and promptly went to bed with a heating pad.
Yeah, me and pad haven’t dated in a while, so I’m pretty sure it thought my invitation a little odd. But you know, if you haven’t been getting much action lately, you’ll at least consider the invitation to hit the sack when it comes along, right?
I’m just sayin’.
Last night’s sleep wasn’t a blessed recharge of my unconsciousness. I tossed more times than I turned, and my honey told me I groaned a lot. I woke up feeling better physically but shot to absolute crap mentally. All morning I’ve been trying to get a feel for what I want to write, all the while juggling incoming projectiles of destruction blowing up my work inbox.
What continued running through my head was to quit, just give it all up. Stop this writing folly of mine, quit work, and hope and pray the SSI would be enough for cat food and saltines.
Just lay my exhausted a*s down and let life steamroll over me.
I’m almost certain this feeling a few people at work have noticed, this rather drastic shift of attitude. For the fifty or so people who consistently read my stuff, you’ve probably seen these warning signs in my works of late.
When I go back now and then to review them, I do too.
Speaking of those fifty or so. You are so precious to me. You, the glorious writers and readers who lift me when I’m down, who laugh at my silly stupid stuff, you mean the world to me.
Those other nine hundred or so followers who stealthily follow me in the shadows.
But it occurred to me as I was feeling the vibrancy drain out of me like water through a spigot that for me, giving up wasn’t an option anymore.
And I thought, “d*mn, I was always so good at giving up.”
Whenever I tried to do something, didn’t matter what it was, and things got complicated or didn’t go my way, what did I do?
I just dropped that pursuit like the disease-ridden thing it had become and walked (or ran) away in the opposite direction. I walked away from relationships, friends who sometimes needed a real friend, work, hobbies, passionate pursuits.
It didn’t matter.
If it didn’t work out, I just quit and kicked that sucker to the curb.
But I can’t do that anymore. Although over the years, I’ve turned the act of quitting into an art form, I can’t quit anymore. Quitting is simply not an option.
I don’t know how I did this or even when I did it, but I’ve let the need to write, the desire to express my feelings and opinions with the written word take over my life. I’ve let this continuously unrequited urge ingrain itself so deeply within my soul that to quit would ultimately lead to quick self-destruction.
I’ve also made future career decisions on writing, which of course, preclude me from entertaining the possibility of quitting.
Yeah, I boxed myself in really well this time.
Hey, it wasn’t me, though. It was this writing passion that made the decision. It did it when I wasn’t looking; committed me to a journey I was just about to quit…again.
Somehow this passion, which somedays seems like it’s killing me, is the very thing that helps me find a way to move. Not necessarily forward, because lately, my career seems to be slipping into the cellar, but at least I’m moving.
At least I’m not giving up. Even though I probably have done it spectacularly well for most of my life, giving up is not an option anymore.
So I’m not even going to try.
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