Every day I come home and think, tonight I'm going to write or at least start editing Counting Crows, and so far, every night, I've come up with a way to avoid doing said writing. I've gotten lots and lots of things on my to-do list done, but I've also added some things like the memory quilt I'm planning (and will be making over the course of the year) as a gift for a loved one. And don't forget the fact that I signed up for NetFlix (turned off cable TV) and am watching a bunch of old movies and TV shows. Seriously, who doesn't love Columbo?
Right now, I'm in that phase where I'm vacillating between beating myself up for not writing and rationalizing that I need a break. The thing is, one side has to win eventually. Right now the rationalizing side has a heavy advantage because I come home mentally tired from work.
As the years have passed, I've become less and less tolerant of politics at work. Not the Democrat vs. Republican type of politics. No, I mean the bullshit-ass-kissing-to-get-ahead politics, the fact that some people are protected no matter what they do while others, no matter how hard they work or how much they produce, never get a break. And I'm not just talking about me. I'm tired because I take the role of the protector, fighter for the underdog, and I'm getting worn to the point that I want to just stop, want to not care, but I can't. I can't be that person.
Just like I can't ignore these rejections. They bother me. I want to believe that hard work accomplishes ... something. But the older I've gotten, the less I believe that to be true. With publishing, it appears to be as much the luck of the draw as the quality of writing. Again, I'm not just talking about me. I'm confounded when I look at what is being published these days. I don't like what it says about the average reader. While with work, well it's more about how long you can hold out against selling your soul.
So, when will I get back to writing? I don't know. Hopefully soon. Maybe never.