Days have gone by without me having a coherent thing to post here. I don’t want to be negative either, so when I’m feeling negative I tell myself “I’ll write something good tomorrow” and there were a few tomorrows in there as I made it through the week. I actually left the comfort of my neighborhood twice: once to the Upper East Side, which seems like another city entirely from downtown, and while there I found myself in a heavy rainstorm, which was calming and soothing to my hot head. Then another day I left my comfort zone (it must be a radius of 25 blocks) to go to Brooklyn for an off-site work meeting, and while there discovered—I should say rediscovered—an undeniable allergy to cats (sob! you should have seen how one of my eyes swelled up!). I’m glad to be back here, on my own two feet. The heat has been unbearable. I don’t think I’ll voluntarily get on the subway for the rest of the month.
The conflict: not enough writing was completed this week, and my goal of finishing the outline for the YA novel for Monday morning is seeming next to impossible. (I won’t say officially impossible, not yet.) I wrote only two mornings before work this week. I meant to write Friday afternoon, since we have half-day summer Fridays, but the rain was very heavy and I was too lazy to wrap my computer in plastic and walk over to my writing spot. Plus the apparent cat allergy had formed a solid ball of congestion in my head so I took a Benadryl. An hour later I practically collapsed in the midst of reading a chapter for a book I’m adapting (another freelance writing project)—I couldn’t even finish the page I was on. I slept thirteen hours last night. It feels like a trip in itself: I was in a dry, hot place, tossing and turning all night. Pieces of reality slipped in and then… gone. I don’t remember much.
I can’t get sick. I cannot. I have too much to do right now.
It’s Saturday morning. I am at my writing spot. A woman came and sat beside me, her feet up on the desk and her chair turned so she was facing my back, reading a book. I cannot stand when people turn their desk chairs and face my back while I’m typing. Then she moved. I hope she doesn’t come back. I’m at that delicate balance where the tiniest of things can send me spiralling into excuses. No excuses! No sniffles! You get the picture. I need to psych myself up with some exclamation points. Maybe I’ll get caught in another rainstorm today.