I’m so overwhelmed that I feel like George Jetson stuck on the
dog walking treadmill at light speed.
As a writer, this feeling grinds my creativity to a
screeching halt. My brain crashes like overloaded circuits in a computer. I
start pacing through the house since I can’t sit still. I call this insanity
the Fidget Fungus. Once it starts it
keeps growing like mold and is very difficult to get rid of.
This latest fungus
started growing after George had been sick for a week and I’d spent the week
herding him to the guest bedroom and hosing the house with disinfectant. Once
he was on the mend and I’d avoided (as my dad called it) the epa-zootick we were on a social whirlwind. By week’s end we
will have attended an early neighborhood Thanksgiving party, a birthday dinner
with friends, entertained the neighbor’s kids with an afternoon of making wood crafts
and riding the 4-wheeler, and hosted dinner for out-of-town friends. Somewhere
in the middle of this George is catching up on work he missed while sick, we’re
finishing before-winter-on-the-property chores, and after finally finding myself (see last week’s post about
getting lost in your own book) I can’t make my brain write another word.
The Fidget Fungus has overtaken my life and it’s time to
bleach that crap clean!
How do you do that at 9 a.m. when it’s too early to drink?
Honestly, it’s never too early, but I’m trying to set a good example
here…therefore, let’s hit the Xanex!!!
Pills popped, it’s time to write.
First, you write an email to the cable company
telling them you’re upset that of the 400 channels you have, only 300 are porn channels. Now drive to
the post office…ah crap, procrastination was so much easier before the speed of
email…okay, hit the send button!
Second
task, you write Grandma a letter
telling her every detail of the last week. She doesn’t have email so voila, you
now get to drive to the post office and mail it. While out you might as well do
some grocery shopping, browse the hardware store for a new color to paint the
bathroom and grab some lunch with a friend.
Third task
is put your butt in the chair and write
500 hundred words before dinner!
There is no magic cure for Fidget Fungus. The best you can
hope for is containing it. It’s going to escape on a regular basis and
sometimes you’re simply going to have to let it grow unchecked. That’s life my
friends. Once I learned that demanding
an 8 to 5 grind from my job as a writer was dumber than digging a hole to
China, the creativity and words came easier.
I quit 8 to 5 because I hated it! Any job with time
structure made my blood pressure and heart rate soar. I was physically marching
in their step to an early grave.
I still have days where twenty years of structured 8 to 5
brainwashing makes me feel like a writing failure. Instead of giving up, I lace
up my hiking boots and climb to the top of the mountain across from our house.
From the top, I can see the other side of the mountain where thousands of people
are punching a clock. I take a deep breath and with a smile on my face, turn
and start the journey down my side.
I like it on my side of the mountain, and it doesn’t matter
how many outbreaks I have of Fidget Fungus I know the rewards are worth it.
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