Well, crap. My emotions spiraled out of control last night. I didn’t have a melt down, or lash out at innocent husbands or skunks or anything like that, but I felt decidedly blue, the sort of blue that’s free floating and overwhelming. Felt like crying, but not ever to the point of actually doing so, which would have probably been a nice release.
The psychologist in me was like “Well, duh. You’ve had a major life change with the job thing, and your sleeping habits are across the board, what the hell did you expect?”
So yeah, I’m depressed. Not surprised. But well, there it is. I sought comfort from Matthew. He made appropriately sympathetic noises, gave lots of huggins, and made French fries and faux chicken nuggets for dinner. And we bought a half gallon of Breyer’s ice cream because I felt the need to be pampered and indulgent. My hubby is the sweetest. He’s at a loss when I’m like this, but he does try.
Then I tried to get all introspective and figure out what the trigger was. Knowing what pushed me off equilibrium is often the first step I need to take in order to get a handle.
Determined it was a combination of the first, incredibly high COBRA premium payment I sent out in the mail, the rejection from Book of Dark Magic, and the profoundly non-fruitful search I did on craigslist which did not come up with any positions I both want, and that would keep food on the table. I think everything together just strained my psychological stabilizers to the breaking point. Brilliant deduction, I’m stressed about money and the future, and not feeling particularly thick skinned about rejections. Yeah, good use of my graduate degree in psychology. [\sarcasm]
236-day “enjoyed the story very much, as I have many of your other tales that I have read, but . . . ” from Book of Dark Wisdom.
Today would be a good day to get a phone call from my agent about an offer on my middle-grade novel. *crickets chirping* Well, it would.
Got a note from Nathan of Scrybe Press. Synchronicity. He’s buying advertising in Apex for the same issue that my interview is slated for. He’s going to gear his ad space toward my publications now, which is fantastic. Marketing, rah. Royalty payments = groceries.
Words: 570 on the WIP. Going backward on my productivity numbers, dammit, but hey, here’s a neat little progress bar:
Club 100 For Writers