When You Fuck Things Up

And right now, I'm totally fucking things up. I'm supposed to be doing X, Y, and Z. And I'm not. What I'm doing is finding balance in a daily life that, at the moment, does not involve writing a book. It's amazingly difficult to make that shift.  

Oh, yeah, I have enough to eat and a roof over my head and so this is absolutely a so-called "First World Problem." What can I say? I live in the first world. 

Were I fortunate enough to live in the non-first-world AND be literate and have access to a medium, well --- I'd still be bitching. Except it would be something like "okay that crop is in and and now what do I do while I'm waiting?" -- Except in this case, the "crop" is a book because I live in the first world where I have the luxury and the joy of making a book instead of making enough grain to store for the winter. 

So. There you go. My brain is utterly focused on making, thinking, living distinctions among and between near-starvation and utter ease.  

As the Wicked Witch said: "What a world, what a world."


More later, and, hey!, perhaps even more coherently later.

That's why this is an internal memo.