Today mutated into ten hours of work, and so I am (understandably, I think) quite exhausted. Continuing with my new habit of saying **** it and posting pictures, I’m leaving this entry in One Hundred Days 2.0 as a picture of my latest (and, really, first) personal touch to my office. It’s a cactus I bought while at Home Depot earlier, as I had to pick up some supplies for work as well. It still needs a name, though Fluffy is currently winning if I’m going by what has the most votes. I probably won’t.
At some point, through some cruel twist of fate, it has officially become winter. I know. Shocking that the weather has taken a turn for the cold and disappointing in January of all months. Today was the first day of my favorite multi-month event, the Fishtailing of the Cars. My lovely little black Toyota handles snow pretty well in the sense that it usually doesn’t go three different directions I don’t want it to before correcting its course.
I had a post planned about how things didn’t go quite according to plan in regards to my more writing, more reading, less naps, etc., plan, but there’s something about this weather that makes me want to curl up underneath a thousand blankets deep within a pillow-fort (note to self: find a way to build a pillow-fort that incorporates the TV; only leave the living room for food and bathroom use) and slumber until the first signs of summer are upon us. It’s supposed to be eight degrees or less tomorrow, which is at least twenty degrees colder than should ever be acceptable.
The bigger problem, at least for me, isn’t the cold or the snow, or even my inability to cope with weather conditions I’ve been exposed to my whole life living in Pennsylvania (the keystone to the frozen wastes of Northrend). No. My biggest conundrum is how this cold weather, with its oppressive chill, saps me of any energy to really use anywhere (beyond the aforementioned cover-cocooning). It becomes a vicious cycle of frustration over not accomplishing much only to realize that it’d be a lot easier to meet goals if I didn’t feel borderline comatose thanks to trudging through this dreadful cold to and from work…all ten feet of parking lot that I need to walk, at any rate.
However, that’s not to say I don’t realize I need to brew up some tea or cocoa (or perhaps just a hot toddy, but probably not since I want to actually be coherent while writing), sit my partially-frozen ass down, and get back to writing. I’ve got a notebook of ideas, more notebooks practically begging for ideas, and a relatively new Moleskine pen that is powerful enough to make me push past my typical distaste for handwritten notes and the likes.
To my fellow creative types, in whatever partially iced-over dwellings you find yourselves in: how are you coping with this polar vortex horseshit? What tricks and tactics are working best to help keep the creativity thawed?
I’m almost certain I hit one hundred days worth of daily blogging about a month ago. Maybe a year ago. Probably decades or millennia or even eons ago. The official count for posts in this category, however, sits at eighty-eight, which I find peculiar since I swear a couple weeks ago it said eighty-three. Or perhaps I’m mistaken. I probably mislabeled some of the mobile posts (way to go, past-me).
However, in the spirit of following the post-count, I have twelve more days. Eleven after this post.
And now to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be better, albeit still somewhat sleepy I fear.
The fog plaguing my brain seems to be dissipating. Finally. Bonus: I have four days off this week as well, thanks to spending some vacation time.
There are several better posts brewing in my brain right now, and most of them are fragments of ideas regarding (surprise) villains. I’d like to say that’s a little something different, but it’s mostly just fluffy silliness while I try to refocus my brain on other writing. Like the half-finished, half-rewritten Screen Robot post I’m doing a positively horrible job on finishing. There are only so many cheap shots one can make at the expense of crossover events (I’m looking at you, Mortal Kombat versus DC Universe you colossal piece of shit).
However, it’s about time for a late-ish dinner and at least one episode of Hannibal season 2 (there will also be posts about Hannibal, if only because I have limited patience for how oblivious the FBI characters seem to be to Hannibal HARVESTING AND EATING PEOPLE’S ORGANS).
I’ve been in a bit of a writing funk this past week or so. Blame it on me not feeling quite 100% or perhaps on the sleep deprivation, but I’ve not really felt like doing much writing. This would be less of a problem if I didn’t have two things I need to finish within a reasonable amount of time (read as about a week ago, probably).
Naturally, I sit down at my desktop, I open Microsoft Word, and then I sit here and stare at the blank document as I become increasingly frustrated with not being able to string words together effectively. Given that I’m working on a post for Screen Robot and a guest post for Onezumi, I want these pieces to be perfect. My current mindset says give up, and there were a couple times today when I considered contacting the respective folks necessary and apologetically bowing out. Obviously bad decision-making on my part resulted in taking on more than I can handle writing-wise, right?
Except I don’t. I can’t, in fact. Just because I can’t force myself into a motivated state doesn’t mean I won’t damn well try as hard as I can until I want to smash my computer (the good news there being I wouldn’t smash this computer because it is a magnificent beast of a machine, courtesy of Jason’s hard work and computer wizardry).
A rather unwelcome guest has arrived, in the form of sleepiness, and so it’s time I turn my attention where it needs to be. If I finish one of my drafts for the night I’ll be pretty content. Two would be better, but the sleepies weighing my eyelids down seem to disagree with the possibility of that happening.
Day Thirty-Two – The Meh Heard ‘Round the World
I took a nap because I felt lousy, and now I feel lousy and tired. No desire to write today at all. Nope.
Here’s some pictures from the epic road-trip to get Marceline as a bridge between last night’s post and tomorrow’s.
Sixty-eight days remaining. Yawn.