Thursday Night Thoughts.

I'm having a pretty decent day, if I may say so. Scratch that. A good day.

While the whole office was having a weird day of unruly incidences throwing them off their game, I was on mine. Got just under 80 minutes timed. I was pleased. Then visited my counsellor for my monthly visit. She got me all jazzed up and positive. That was nice.

My dishes are now clean. My kitchen almost so. But that's all right. I've got this weird calm going on. I like this feeling. It's what euphoria would be like if you didn't have to do all that damned dancing. Okay, really mild, almost subliminal euphoria.

I don't know. I'm feeling like luck has kind of conspired to give me a good go of it for a change. May not last long. So, I'm capitalizing and enjoying the moment. Seems like the right thing to do. I can go back to worrying again on Sunday or something.

I sold my second ad on my blog. This is good. Promising. Looks like I have a new pair of jeans in my future. Insert giddy clapping and gleeful utterances here.

You know, I had this moment back in July, I think it was, when I just stood still, looked around and thought "Gee, this looks like shit, but come a year from now it's gonna be a distant nightmare." It just seemed to me that there's a shelflife on all this shit I've been going through. Through it all there's something inside where I feel like I'm glad to be getting made a little stronger, you know? Strength can't hurt a damned bit. But, seriously, a shelflife. And it's not that I HOPE things are going to settle down. I don't. I just know they are. And I know my luck's going to turn. And I know that I've done a lot towards setting the groundwork towards things I really, really want.

I feel like, right now, I have sweet fuck all to lose from just saying fuck it and really going after what I want. No kids, no man, no mortgage, nada. When it comes to low-maintenance, I'm as low as they go. And when it comes to this, time to go balls-all-out as Dad would say, there's not a whole lot preventing me from doing just that.

But the point is, despite ALL this shit, there's that feeling underneath that it's all meaning something. It's a lesson. Something to learn, extract. And I have this unending source of belief in myself right now. I don't need anyone's approval, and I don't need much help. I just need to keep doing what I gotta do to get by, and do whatever it takes to nurture belief in myself. I think that's what I get from my counsellor when I visit her. She sort of looks into my POV and points out what my strengths are and kind of helps me see patterns in my faults, too. I need the objectivity. I get all the --PERCEIVED-- fluffery from my friends and family. I know my friends and family are discerning individuals and I'm sure they mean what they say when they're complimenting my pursuits like writing, but. But. There's always a but.

But it's easy to shrug off their comments with "they're biased." It's easy to dismiss internet readers or even "fans" with some sort of "yeah, but, what do they know? They're on the computer all the time anyhow." dismissal.

It's petty and uncouth to be so dismissive, I know, but some of us come with very bruised egos and it's hard to sell us on our merits.

Ah, well. Anyhow. Despite my optimism, I'm a worrywort by nature. I overthink things. What is an asset to my writing is a curse to my reality. I need to learn how to shut the fuck up and enjoy the moment a bit more than I do. I know. I know. Note made.

But I've been worrying a lot about things -- how to juggle all the things I need to juggle yet still have a fun life. And I realize my greatest problem: Time. The lack thereof. Yet I find untold hours available to me for worrying. Now I realize a new perspective: My greatest problem is time management. Aha. Well. A solution might yet be had. I know myself to still be confined to a mere 24 hours a day (you too? pity!) so if managing my time better and possibly even practicing restraint mean I get more done and then have a life besides, well! I'll take that.

I fear my English is a little on the starchy side. I've been working on a lot of Victorian English shows lately. I even affected a little brogue for a bit there.

So. I need to learn time management. Getting up earlier would be a start. Alarm clock: Set. (I never use an alarm. I'm like that Bret Easton Ellis line: "Richard didn't use an alarm clock. He was comprehensively alarmed.")

For those playing at home, Dad was moved out of ICU yesterday. Still in the hospital, but doing better. Insert happy dance.