Overridden by the Muse

Does anyone else have a loser mentality?

I have this terrible habit of getting down on myself and becoming very upset when I don't do all the things I think I should be doing. The last two weeks have been hell and I've had no time to write and my exercise routine has slipped quite a bit because of the long hours at work. Now, I know that's beyond my control but I still feel like a complete failure. I've gotten to a point in my life where I can recognize the feelings as unfounded and temporary but that doesn't stop them. Strange, no? Ah well, at least I know it will all fade once I can get back to writing and exercising. Sad that it took so many years of my life to realize they are two legs of the tripod I need to keep my life balanced (the third is wife & child. Yea, I know that's two things but they're sort of a matched set, ya know?) If I can't keep those three things going solidly I tailspin into a vortex of morbid delerium and self-recriminations that has (More than I like to admit) pushed me close to the suicidal edge. Seems extreme, I know but it boils down to this: in order to be happy all humans need three basic things . . .

1. To love/be loved.
2. To know there is a purpose to their life.
3. To feel good about themselves.

Those are (in order) my family, my writing, and exercise for me. Any of those get out of wack and I am one very scary camper. (As if you hadn't already guessed that from this blog, huh?) It took almost thirty six years for me to realize those three simple things were what I needed to make me whole. I don't know about you other folks but it was a long (and painful) journey of discovery. I always had one of those things (occassionally two) going for me, which I think kept me from the truly dark places of the human condition but I was never happy or satisfied. It was only when all three of them came together that I realized what I'd been missing. Now, as you all know, I desperately want to be a Big-Name-Author one of these days. That's my favorite dream and I'm working toward it as hard as I can but it's enough for me that I just write. Don't really need the money or the readership (though I would REALLY like to have both!) all I need is to know I am accomplishing what I was meant to do: tell stories as best I can. I used to laugh at the people who'd say "I don't write to be published!" (Okay, I still do. Most of them are using that as a cover because they aren't good enough to publish and don't want to put in the work to improve themselves. Sort of like a kid saying: "I didn't want to go to that stupid old party anyway!") For myself, I say that: "I write to be published but I also write just to make myself happy."

Sad, but true. The terrifying, eye-burning, headache causing, loss of sleep inducing process of putting words to paper is the only thing in my life I have ever truly wanted to do. I have worked many (many, many!) jobs, owned several businesses, tried countless hobbies and through it all I'd have sold my soul just to be able to sit in a room by myself and type my little stories out. Guess that makes me a writer, huh?

I imagine if you're reading this: it makes you one too. Congratulations and condolences all at once, my fellow lunatics!

Don't know where that all came from really. I just meant to sit down and type up a quick note that I'd be busy this weekend and not likely to post until Monday (foul, foul day that it is!) The muse took over on me. Must be the depression over not writing or exercising. She's (yes, my muse is MOST DEFINITELY female!) reminding me that I need to get back on schedule after this weekend: not matter what.

Good weekend to all!