I know that I am one for happiness and all that, especially with me going through my own metamorphasis. But I am at a hault. It’s like a physical wirter’s block. Here I am at the start of a life altering career-change, free of an abusive relationship, content finally at being a single mom, happy with my sexuality for once, far from financial burden (well at least some)…anyway, after all of this I am stuck doing what I do best. Habitual Procrastinating. You could even call it running away but I don’t know. To those who know me best would hear me all positive if this dilema was emmiting from someone other than me.
My therapist has said that in the past I have run from things in fear of something. One time she asked me why do I think I do it? Fear of failure? I don’t know yet but it’s overwhelming at times. What brought this on? Why am I second-guessing myself? Who the fuck knows? When I had nothing to lose, I was willing to risk that nothing for something…I was for once dreaming. Now that I have something, I am afraid to risk it and the dreaming has stopped.
I stand here with a book ready to be produced and published…expenses already paid for and what is the hold up you ask? ME. I have yet to mail the damn edited manuscript. Am I afraid that people will hate it? I don’t know. How have I lost confidence? Not sure. Whatever the issue, I need to suck it up. I know you’re sitting there like is this bitch crazy? I mean after struggling to raise a child on my own for the last 5 years, you’d think that I’d be able to conquer anything. If I had to go to my boss and put my 2 weeks in after the success of my book I’ve been haunted by for half a decade, I probably wouldn’t.
Right now I Sher’rei is screaming dumb bitch as if watching a horror movie where the damsel in distress runs away from a monster upstairs into a death trap instead out of the front door. And here I am confused like a deer in headlights. Sorry for the analogy but it’s the best I got.
Writing again has made me so happy that I can jump on the bed laughing like a child. But oddly the plots are weakening. My storylines are strong and anticipated but the intricate plots within them are kinda watered down. I realize now that I did my best work when the rose-colored glasses weren’t on my face. funny, the happy Rose is running out of tales to tell but the depressed me was sooo inspired. I fear that this will never change. I met a woman who turns me on yet, thrills me…and for the first time in like…ever, I am afraid if the feeling is mutual.
I can’t stop second-guessing everything.
Sometime soon, I’m gonna bitch-slap myself, mail my manuscript, confess my feelings of being enamored (which I think i may have already…well at least confirm them) and pull it together. The one time I seem to be taking myself seriously is the one time I bitch up…LMAO.
Don’t worry people the correct me will be in order shortly.