There is always a week or two, in between sending one newsletter to press and the content deadline for the next issue, where I have long stretches of down time. I’ve often used this break to work on other writing projects so I can open up spots in my schedule for things like reading and catching a nap in the afternoon. I’m all about the balance.
But lately I’ve found myself resenting this gap. I’m annoyed that I had to drive the 20 miles to the office only to have no work to do. I get restless and bored; it even makes attempting other writing difficult.
Diagnosis: Short-Timers Syndrome.
There is an end in sight (even if it’s a year or so away), and the little things I’ve been able to brush aside before are poking at me. I’m ready to go now.
I don’t care for this feeling at all. I pride myself on knowing how lucky I am to be doing something I truly enjoy on a schedule that allows me a good bit of freedom and the ability to attend to Mack’s special needs. This restlessness feels like a betrayal of that. And the fact that it’s resulting in me actively avoiding writing just makes it worse.
There are any number of things I could be writing, but I just can’t muster the enthusiasm. Something about the glare of fluorescent lights and ringing phones and other people (all of which I’ve been able to work around before) that is just sapping my energy, both creative and otherwise.
It comes and goes. Sometimes I’m on, others not. I’m trying to pay attention to when I’m on so I can keep that going and trying to go easy on myself when I’m not.
But I’m longing for change I can’t yet have, so I must change the one thing that I can: my mind.
And maybe add some highlights to my hair.