Snapshot from the last hour: I try to scan a contract, and my scanner fails, twice. I try to watch a TV show I plan to write about, and even though the TV worked for me earlier in the day, the remote control that I always say hates me, decides it doesn't want to use the volume. For the life of me, kind of like I am clueless about Photoshop, I don't know how to get the remote to do what I want.
Tonight, though, I wanted to toss it across our living room full of boxes. Instead, in the still eerie quiet, while my boyfriend and his parents are at our new place and I'm supposed to be working, I'm typing this instead, in front of a giant empty black screen.
There are a lot of good things happening in my life; I'm writing for new publications, and had my first few bylines of 2016. I've started a very slow combination of walking/jogging, which I'm hesitant to even type out, lest I jinx myself from the minimal progress I've made so far. I'm tackling some long-standing problems in a way that I hope gets them resolved by the end of the year, or at least, the end of next year. I'm flying to California on Saturday, where I'll be meeting a friend's two-year-old who loves princesses and Superman and Wonder Woman and also teaching two writing workshops and getting to do a reading with my authors from my brand new book. It will be a whirlwind few days in hopefully warmer weather than New Jersey is having right now.
But this is where I pretty much feel my all-or-nothing tendencies, my hair trigger ability to cry, my addict genes kicking in. When all the mini frustrations start to build up, coupled with an already toppling to do list, a move, so many things to juggle at once, I start to completely lose it. I'm sure if I had a bigger vice than biting my nails, now would be the moment I activate it.
I always think that a new year, and now, perhaps, a new home, will not just mean a "clean slate," but somehow, a literal new me. I think I'll enter the newness without dragging along any baggage, of any kind. I also apparently think that I gain some special powers and can write faster and multitask and do far more than I'm actually capable of in a single day, and then berate myself at night when I fall short.
I'm looking forward to next week when I'm home and settled in, but I know that before that time, there are going to be big and small things that go awry. Things feel unbalanced and that makes it hard for me to stay balanced, or even counteract that topsy-turviness. I don't want to be too much of a Debby Downer with this post, so I will say, as it almost always does: writing helps. It lets me momentarily step back from my frustrations and aggravations, especially those against myself, and realize that life goes on, despite various setbacks. I have a lot to be thankful for and a lot to look forward to; at the very least, I can be glad I haven't thrown anything across a room or out a window, binge eaten or done anything else more destructive than gnashing my teeth. Tomorrow is a big day, and maybe the new perspective of a new home will help me see my week a little differently.