The Traffic Island of My Life

So if you want to know what's REALLY going on in my life, this essay, which was a completely random find on my part, sums the situation. (*1) For thirty years now, I've been racing from one project, one job, one "place" to another. I'm exhausted. I no longer have the stamina I had when I was forty. Or had when I was fifty. More to the point, I no longer WANT that kind of "stamina," "stamina" being another word for "racing like mad to accomplish as much as I can every. single. day."

So what I'm REALLY doing these days is figuring out how to handle my half dozen new Major Projects, as well as all the ongoing stuff, as well as family life, as well as running our household. Etc. And do that while decelerating. (*2)

I'd go into detail in how this project is playing out ---- such as a few days ago when I wanted to crack open The Husband's skull because he was chattering on about something, utterly oblivious to the nine bags of groceries staring at him, which I was busy unloading, or trying to do so but he kept getting in my way while he rattled on, and realizing that rather than crack his skull open surely it would make more sense to let the groceries go for a moment, and simply slow down and chat with him, screw the groceries, I'll do it later ---- but that's all too boring.

So instead --- hey, I'll figure it out, and meanwhile I'm trying to reacquaint myself with the fine art of blogging while also, I have to admit, reveling in all the ideas that are clamoring for my attention now that the goddamn meat book is finished. Because honestly, I AM GLAD THAT BOOK IS FINISHED. It was wearing on me.

Also, in less than a year, I've had not one but two vacations, an all-time record for me, and those convinced me that adding more "leisure," or downtime, or whatever we want to call it, is a good thing. No. Not a good thing. A necessary thing.

Case in point: Yesterday I made changes to the page that describes the new meat book, and while doing so realized that it's entirely possible that I'm losing it. For real. I captured that moment on that page (you can read it here) --- and left what I wrote intact to remind me to SLOW DOWN before I turn into a giggling, nearly hysterical lunatic. (Picture some poor soul confined to a nineteenth century "insane asylum." Can you imagine being chained up like that for no reason other than that your brain and body were trying to tell you to slow down?? Good lord.) (See? I'm not even making much sense. It's disturbing. I GOTTA slow down.)

So. I'll figure it out. And yeah, I realize this is about as narcissistic a post as it's possible for one person to write. But I rarely do this kind of stuff here, so I guess we'll all live. Also, of course, if I do go right over the edge, at least I can say I gave the world fair warning. (I'm kidding. I'm not THAT deranged.)


*1: I'm embarrassed to admit that several years ago, I had several panic attacks. I didn't know what they were --- I thought, wrongly, that panic attacks were situational: they happened in specific circumstances. Turns out that's not true. They're, um, random as hell. And frightening. But did I do anything different? Oh, no! Not me! That would be too smart.

*2: Because I've got to say that the last excruciating push of finishing the meat book deposited an unexpected and delightful surprise in my lap: As I noted in a previous blog entry, I was so exhausted by that process that when I wasn't actively working (writing, proofreading, revising, checking sources, etc.), I did "nothing." And the "nothing" part of the day proved to be powerful in both is allure and satisfaction. I want more. More, I say!