I opened up my Google Drive this morning, fully intending to write a new story or two for Holiday Heat, but the moment I did I felt this gigantic wave of what I can only describe as “distaste”.

What the hell?

I’m writing this post on April 10. I just got back from a weekend away with Partner 2, where we went to see the totality of the solar eclipse (and no, I didn’t get any good photos, so I’m not posting any of them here). A few weeks ago, GASP happened and it was amazing. Last night I was with two of my partners, and tonight I’ll be with one of them for our usual date night — and I’ll see the other on Friday night. Earlier in the week I booked my trip to Dallas for TASSP with Partner 1. I baked some banana bread, went to the grocery store, applied for jobs…

Ah. There is is.

I’m sure I’ve written about this in the past, but whenever I have something else competing for my time, I’m more likely to write. When I have a job, something is competing for my time. I don’t have a job right now. I’m spending all of my energy looking for one, and it’s draining AF. On top of that, I keep getting rejection emails which are demoralizing. So when I finally do sit down to write, I don’t feel up to it. Honestly I don’t feel up to anything.

Sure, I have a mild stomachache; that happens from time to time. Once it goes away, I’m going to take the dog for a stupid little walk for my stupid mental health, something that doesn’t really show results like I wish it would.

I’ve even lost a little weight over the past few weeks — I had to buy new belts and one of them is already on the smallest setting. That should be cause for celebration.

But it’s not. All I want to do is sit in front of the TV and vacillate over what to watch until I either (a) settle on a baking show or (b) fall asleep.

I know the reason I lost my job isn’t because I wasn’t good at it; it’s because the company needed to cut costs and middle management is often the first to go. But it still makes me wonder, unable to control the thought, if maybe I’m not good at anything I do. I’ve been writing professionally for fifteen years and I’ve made under $5000 in total all that time. I don’t get a lot of people commenting on my work. In person people at munches act interested but that never seems to translate into sales or reviews.

I need some sort of validation here. I hate that I do, but I do. Maybe then I won’t look at my Google Drive with such distaste. I mean, hell, I only have 63 more stories to write, and I have until September to finish them. That should be doable.

Should.