Pardon me if I’m a little less than coherent today. It’s the first day this week that I haven’t needed allowed myself to nap. Don’t get me wrong, naps are great, but should a twenty-two year old really need to nap at 9:30 am, just two hours after she’s woken up? I think not.
In fact, I’m a little worried about how tired Andy and I have been, particularly in the mornings. I was never this way before, except for a few nights in college when I’d procrastinated studying for a big exam or writing a paper until the night before. But now we’re like zombies in the morning, hitting snooze at least twice before we finally get up to stumble around our bedroom. It’s gotten worse in the past couple weeks, but if I’m being honest, it’s been a problem for the past few months. We tried opening our blinds to let in more natural light, and that helped a bit during summer, but with fall here and winter fast approaching, it’s no longer enough. Mostly because light doesn’t come until well after we’ve woken up and I’m taking Riley out on his morning walk.
We get seven to eight hours on a regular basis, both take vitamins — Andy’s better about it than I am, but he’s usually the tireder one — and eat decently well. So what’s the problem?! I honestly don’t know, but it is starting to worry me. We’re going to look at new mattresses this weekend, since we’re currently sleeping on an innerspring mattress that he’s had for over ten years, but there’s no guarantee it’ll help…
Cross your fingers for me?
What really brought me here was not to beg for your good vibes. (But please, please send them.) What brought me here was the realization that I don’t write happy things.
Okay okay, here on the blog, sure, stuff is mostly happy. Because I’m a generally happy person. I think I got most of my angst — and thus most of my angsty blogging — out during my teenage years, and I have since obliterated/privatized/forgotten about those blogs. Of course, I do have most of them backed up on my computer, because hey, sometimes it’s fun to go back and see how BOO HOO EMO you used to be.
But in terms of my fiction writing — you know, the stuff I want to make a living off of? — I rarely ever write happy things. My main characters are usually angry, sad, or both. Someone important to them has died. And no one really laughs, because snorts and sarcastic chuckles don’t count.
WHAT’S UP WITH THAT, YO?
I don’t go into any of my stories thinking, Hmm, how can I make this really, REALLY emo? They just kind of come out that way! I never thought it was a problem — frankly I thought it was because sad things are easier to write than happy ones — but the more I think about it, the more I realize the signs have been there all along.
Sign #1: my mom sitting me down one day during my junior year of high school and asking if I needed to see a psychologist, because my two award-winning stories were about (a) a woman in an abusive relationship who wants to commit suicide, and (b) a girl who makes a pot of coffee for her brother every morning, despite the fact that he’s been dead for years.
There’s no real resolution to this issue, other than my looking a little harder, digging a little deeper, and finding that happy place within me that can produce less depressing fiction that still rings true to my voice.
But you tell me: Isn’t it really weird?! Or am I overreacting?
# # #
On a completely unrelated note, OMG CHECK OUT THE SEKSY. Since I can’t afford one right now, I’m making small tweaks to Winnie so that she and I are both happier. Most recently I lowered the Hardware Acceleration in her Display Settings (say what?? I know) because ever since I upgraded to iTunes 8.0 and Firefox 3.0, they mess each other up and I end up with half of Demi Lovato’s album cover in my Gmail window.
Please publish me soon so that I can reward myself with a new Macbook laptop. Also so I can stop feeling like a huge failure and waste of life.