I’ve been wallowing lately.
Seriously. It never goes away. I’m dreaming about being part of the WWIII prisoner camps and childbirth (both just as stressful in my brain.) I wake up early to get my writing in, since that’s my number one goal. Some mornings I write a lot, some I wallow, and lately I spend most of my time delegating stuff, answering emails, and trying to figure out how to get breakfast before I have to be somewhere. Then I’m off to clean a building, swing by the breakfast shop because I didn’t have time to make it at home (again), and patting myself on the back as I walk into the library at 9:00, having already conquered (or not) two jobs. Then there’s the library until 6:00 when I come home determined to finish writing. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I get distracted by the lawn, or the tree that fell on the greenhouse, or the messy house, or making a semi-healthy meal, or doing stuff for the Luther Tour.
My emotional world is a mess. It’s everywhere from a high of, “Murphy’s law rocks! I have no idea how I fit all that into that one hour” to crying over my keyboard because I’m going to be alone and seventy years old before I can reach my dream of publishing my own books with a team and working on turning them into films with the incredibly dazzling people who dominate my brain. I’ve come home from rehearsal so vamped that I can’t sleep, and been so tired I’m tearing up on my way to yet another task. People ask what I’ve been up to and I either give them a long list of TMI about everything I’ve been doing for the last 24 hours or I decide I don’t need to do that and say something habitual like, “Oh, not much.”
Whereupon they look at me like they don’t believe that for a moment.
In 2012, I directed a 30 person play about the Titanic. The pressure was intense and I felt certain people sabotaging me. I cried every day, feeling like I was going down with the ship. This show is still about 30 people. We’re rewriting the script, scrambling to find props and costumes on a slim budget, and I’m doing it on top of working full time which I was not doing in the last show. I’ve been proud of myself because even when I get frazzled, I’m not falling apart. I’m not crying.
Two days ago. I fell apart. I don’t even remember what triggered it. One minute I was writing. The next I was sobbing and I wrote the ramblings that became a blog. I’m not going to lie. Yesterday I went with Sharon to Houston. We checked out her favorite spice store and bebopped around vintage and seedy resale shops looking for costumes for the Luther Tour. I was relieved to be out of the house, relieved to see new places, relieved not to be alone even on a day off I’d been looking forward to.
Today I slept with my phone off. My clock was reset during an outage so I had no idea what time it was. Lately I’ve slept in a few times, convinced it’s at least 10:30 only to find it between 7 and 7:15. So I was shocked to turn on my phone to find texts from my friend Val coming in between the clock declaring it was…. 11:45.
11:45??? Forget writing in the morning and working in the afternoon. There wasn’t any morning left. I felt exhausted. Unmotivated. Even a bit pouty because I want a day off, darn it, and the house needs cleaning and my green house is going to collapse under that tree and it’s the only sunny day we’ve had in a while to dry up the field enough to mow and…
I made breakfast anyway, after texting Val back that I was indeed alive. Sorta. And despite the September 30th deadline to have Tehveor’s portion of Sentarra complete, it still took me a while to get to my computer, sit down, find good writing music, figure out where the story was going and whose viewpoint to write it in. And then the writing flowed all the way until I was supposed to take costumes to the Luther. It worked well. The actress I needed to try on clothes happened to be there. I got to talk to the woman helping with costumes and Jack about the upcoming book signing for Across the Distance and sneak peek for the Luther Tour on September 8th. It was a great reminded that I’m not in this alone.
Lately there’s been more and more people coming out of the woodwork, telling their friends about the show, hanging posters, donating costumes, and helping with set and costumes and tickets. I’ll be sharing the flyer as soon as I get the chance to turn it from PDF to JPEG so the computer will take it. It’s been great, y’all.
But I haven’t felt like myself. My normal, motivated, get it done, life is going to be fantastic self. I’ve been feeling like my “How can I possibly reach my dreams when I’m too busy to work at them or even breathe?” self. I keep reminding myself this pace is only going to be a few more weeks before it slows and I have more time for things like Ever Ink, yard work, and even the occasional novel or movie.
What I have had more of lately is money. Not a ton of money, but enough to outsource and start building my publishing team. Along with some friends who volunteered to give feedback on “The Calling” and “The Captive,” I’ve been able to get “Swing” professionally proofed before it goes to Barnes and Nobles. I have an editor going over “The Captive” and I have help typing up what I am managing to write for “The King.” Now the feedback and work is piling up on my side but it’s a nice change from earlier this year when I felt like I’d done everything I could without getting help but had no money to pay anyone.
But my life is drastically different than it was last month or three months ago. It’s good changes for the most part, but I haven’t gotten into a new routine. I haven’t found myself among the whirl of changes. Until tonight.
Tonight I listened to a man talk about paradigms. Paradigms aren’t new lessons for me, but it’s reinforced what I’m missing. Paradigms are the beliefs you have that control your sub conscience mind and therefore your actions.
Paradigms are what’s made me be able to take a full-time job knowing I’m enabling myself to reach my goals instead of feeling like I’m giving up on them. They’re what’s made me respond “Not yet” instead of skeptical laughs when a boy asks if I’m rich because I’m a writer. I’m not just shelving that book at the library. I’m a publisher, noticing fonts and art work, what stands out on the shelves and what gets lost between the other spines.
I also see where paradigms are getting in my way. The beliefs that turn a compliment into a creeper no matter the man’s age. The repeating that it’s “just me” doing this show when I have people all around asking what I need help with and following through. The panic that a regular job is going to keep me from even finishing this manuscript, that the tree will come crashing down on me if I go at it, that I can’t take a day off without my week ahead falling apart. None of that is true, yet the thoughts keep replaying and undermining what I’m trying to do.
So tomorrow I start afresh. I am a person who cleans a building. I am a library worker. I am a publisher with her own team. I am a director who contributes to my community. I’m like everyone else in the world, doing things I love, doing things I don’t love, working toward a goal, daydreaming, happy, frustrated and busy. But I’m Lindsey. I’m learning. And that’s enough.
P.S. If you’re interested in wine, cheese, book signings and sneak peeks of the Luther Tour, check out the lovely flier above. If you want to see the Luther Tour, that’s below. Stay tuned, and let me know if you want to get your ticket ahead of time, so I can make sure you get your spot.
I’ve been wallowing lately.