This morning, driving into work, it was quite dark–a symptom of the various hurricane effects moving through the state. The air was soft and cool, but not cold. Walking from the parking lot to my car, I reveled in the sensuous nature of the wind on my face, streaking through my hair. I found myself dragging my feet, trying to prolong that brief walk for as long as I could. I knew that by the time I emerged from my office again, the air would have changed–become more oppressive or rainier–so the only opportunity I would have to savor that particular feel in the air was then. Throughout the morning, I prairie-dogged my head over my cubicle walls to glance with longing out the bank of windows that line the end of my aisle. Storms are pretty. It was hard sitting at my desk this morning.
I’m having mood issues. It’s like there’s two of me, the emotional part that I can feel in the center of my chest, all weepy and unhappy, and the intellectual part of me that acknowledges that I’m feeling free-floating blueness, and is both annoyed and flummoxed by it. My emotions are flying all over the spectrum with no causal factor to speak of. One moment, I get that heavy ache in my chest that makes me want to cry, and the next moment, I’m fine but troubled by the emotional teeter-totter I appear to be on.
I can’t blame the meds I’m on, particularly. I’m off the Prednisone at long last and just taking Imuran to control my Lupus/MCTD. The Imuran shouldn’t, as far as I’m aware, have mood side effects. So I guess it’s just me. I assume that my irregular sleep habits are playing a large role, but aside from trying to regiment my sleep better, there’s not a lot I can do about them. Matthew suggested that I start doing yoga regularly again, and I agree that that’s an excellent suggestion. But it’s something of a Catch 22. I feel morose, and hence I’m disinclined to engage in any sort of healthful activity.
I assume I’ll feel better in a couple weeks, as these episodes tend to be cyclic, but until then, I’m having a hard time maintaining motivation, much less positive energy levels.
58-day rejection from Story Station. (Herein I make a ridiculously self-evident observation:) Rejection hits me a lot harder when I’m depressed.
I think it might be time to trunk this story. I’ll sit on it for a while, maybe give myself a chance to look it over again, but I suspect its expiration date has passed.
I’m now, for the first time in quite a while, under thirty works in circulation. This doesn’t trouble me. I know of writers who maintain a juggling act of 100+ works out to various markets, and I have no wish to compete with those numbers. The way I figure it, the fewer works I have out, the more I’ve sold, as long I’m still writing new ones. Plus, I’ve got several stories waiting on the sidelines for manuscripts to clear from the Cricket queue. But it did surprise me when I checked my figures. Guess that’s what happens when I make five sales in under a month. Hardly going to furrow my brow over that.
But I am struggling to sustain momentum on the new story I’m working on. 500 new words, and they were uniformly melancholy and did little to further the plot. Not impressive. I don’t think I’m at my writing best right now.