Fire is a particularly apt pen name at the moment. I’m feeling more and more burnt out.
About a month ago, I got a job at a restaurant. I’ve been working there 2-4 days a week, in addition to all my tutoring and writing. And I’m exhausted. I haven’t had a day off in weeks.I have had plenty of chances. Today, I have no work to attend, but I am still pushing myself with my writing. I have a novel to polish. I have a feature to finish. I don’t have time for time off. My goals are far too ambitious. I’m not going to make an early July publishing goal. For that, I’d need to be ready to go–proofread, formatted, cover designed–right now, and all that is a few weeks off.
I think, I may need to release that goal and set something more realistic, but I don’t feel like I’ll be released from this burning need to FINISH until I am actually finished.
It’s not like it’s easier when I finish. After that, I have another book to write and publish, and I have to do all this over again.
I’m working so hard at this new job. It’s difficult and draining and giving me all sorts of neck pains. My weekends are gone. I’m glad to have a job, but I keep wondering–what the fuck am I doing? Why haven’t I learned to program or something? Why don’t I have a regular job? Something that isn’t so physically or emotionally demanding (poor introvert needs her recharge). I could work 40 hours a week, go home, rest. I could make enough money to afford all the stuff I want. I’m smart enough to learn to do all sorts of things that could, in theory, pay well. If I invested my time and energy into learning to program, I could be making 70k within a year… in theory, at least.
This is all so hard. I work so hard, and, for what? Some sense of creative fulfillment, I guess.
I guess, this all hit about two weeks ago. I went to dinner with the guy who was supposedly the producer on my web series. He’s just over producing, and we’ve all pretty much abandoned the project. I knew it was coming, but I still feel so frustrated. We’ve been working on that project for at least six months. And, somehow, I always had this feeling like it wasn’t going to happen… but I kept meeting and working on it. Now, it wasn’t a lot of work, not really. I wrote the thing in a few weeks… but, I was looking forward to seeing it produced. I was really excited to make something happen.
But it’s not happening… because a bunch of people got all excited without committing to the work. And that’s how it always is in LA. Everyone thinks they can make things happen, thinks they are willing to give up their time and money to make things happen, but they never can. They never do. And I let myself get caught up in the excitement, in the maybe, when I should know better. I should have learned from last time. I’m done working with people who have no legit credits.
I’m just tired, really. I don’t want to do much of anything. I want to curl into a ball and cry. But it’s not depression, not really. It’s just, I don’t know where my life is going… I don’t feel like it’s going anywhere. It’s a swirling spiral to nowhere. I know finishing the book won’t actually make me feel better. I need a vacation or something… a week or two off, but that isn’t likely to happen. I did just start a new job. I was supposed to take today off. But I didn’t… and I have so much work ahead of me for this novel. And I have no idea what I am doing vis a vi screenwriting… I submitted my last project to Austin, but am I still going to put it on the Blacklist? I’m still not done with my current project. I made a deal with myself that I’d wait for that.
And, even if I did submit it, and I did get good scores, what would really come out of it? Best case scenario, I get a manager. But that’s just more work, some pointless meetings that don’t do any good. At least that’s how it seems. More likely, I’ll get average to above average scores and I’m know, once again, that I’m just not good enough.
I’m so tired of the follow your dreams rhetoric.
The whole reason why I took this job was so that I could have another few years to be in my 20s and not commit. But I’m feeling more and more committed to failure. More and more committed to having no life except writing.
I think, after I finish this polish, I need to take a week off from writing…
But I won’t be off, because I need time off from my brain. I need time off from myself.
A few days away somewhere maybe. Maybe at home. There’s a lot of family stuff I have to deal with.