Today

Writing seems impossible today. I am an absolute mess today. Like sobbing, won't leave house, can't leave house, won't write, can't write, today. I have noticed I cycle like this. I need to have a day of absolutely freaking out after days of being a shut-in before I sit down and write and just fucking do what I need to do and it's fine.

But today I'm not convinced I will get this book done by deadline, which is soon, very soon. Today I am not convinced I am a writer and that I will ever again write something worthwhile, or even slightly lucid or coherent, and the past where I somehow have written something worthwhile, seems like a completely different lifetime ago and a completely different person. Although I have the notes, other people's notes, my notes...I have 40,000 words of rough draft for this section I need to basically cut in half.

But nothing will happen today. Lately I feel even good news, mostly surrounding the works that are already out, is making me break down. Like it's all too much fucking pressure sometimes. To write sometimes feels like the most unlikely thing. To actually confront blankness and turn it into words, thoughts, to attempt to externalize the fucking milkshake of my mind. I finally made myself shower today after days of not doing it, not being able to, needing to have an extra skin of safety, and I discovered a large rash had broken out on my leg. I took a picture of it and sent it to John. I googled: Lupus. Stress. Skin Rash on Leg. As I'm convinced I'm developing lupus, have gone to doctors for this, who have given me all the tests, and said: Yeah, maybe something borderline but probably no. Maybe it's dry skin John said. And it's true I put lotion on it and it went away but I wanted to have some physical manifestation of my stress, to show, to say, look at this I'm freaking out.So I didn't tell him that. I wanted some sort of pity, I think.

I am such an abject girl. This is totally not an appropriate thing to post. This is not a cry for help. Maybe it's a cry for help. For comfort or community. I don't know.

I felt I needed to vent. Does anyone ever feel this? Plus I only have like two weeks to whip this section into submission. When I feel I want to sleep a week after getting back from traveling. 

I am so unprofessional. This is why I can't get hired anywhere. I am supposed to be working on letters for jobs I am applying for that I'll never get but I wonder how I can actually attempt to form and mold my messy innards and messy emotions and messy body into some sort of shape in order to actually appear in public, present myself as a polished, coherent self, although days ago I was doing just that, reading and smiling and performing. But now I'm exhausted and I don't want to go outside again.

This column on the left of my blog is the ooze. The column on the right of my blog is all fake and a lie, the polished image, the author photo, the blurbs, the reviews, the exclamatory publicity. 

I will probably erase this.