I've felt like a pile of poop the last few days ... don't ask. Heating pad, and lots of Tylenol. Great way to bring in the new year. And I'm on a deadline. The train ain't slowin' down any.
I read the blogs of other writers that seem to have these wonderful spurts of energy and are so witty as they meet every deadline, teach classes, and schedule book tours. Their words just leap off the page, they're all having a great day, and the universe of publishing kisses them on the forehead and awards them with a new book. The only problems in their wonderful world of writing is managing to spend quality time with their toddler and dealing with snail mail. God, I hate it when they paint such damn rosy pictures.
Can we have some honesty?
Every once in a while, I need to take more time thinking about what's going on inside of me and how I feel. And today it's, why do I care so much that everybody like me. Today, I wonder if anybody even reads this damn blog. Today I'm thinking ... why do I care ... nobody else does.
Self-pity takes a lot of energy. I'm just having one of those days.
Blessings ... I suppose I should count mine.