Write On!
Day two of NaNoWriMo and I've written 4,907 words. The quest to write fifty thousand words gives me the same feeling I had while standing on that ledge at King's Dominion with the bungee cord thing strapped to my person. I float between feeling like I want to throw up and then I gleefully shiver, clap and hold myself like someone just snuck up behind me and hissed "Mufasa!" whenever I finish a paragraph.
My outline--feeble ghost that it was--vanished somewhere around the 2,oooth word. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I am fairly certain writing a novel is not it. For years people have told me I should be writing books, and for years I've been pshaw'in' them. Crazies.
I know myself. While I probably do have a book or several in me, I have no idea how I'll ever get it out, so I'm focusing on the next best thing--getting something, anything and everything out. I'm doing me with a splash of what forum friends and Wrimo pros encouraged: I'm writing like I wear my hair--freely, naturally, giving less than a good damn about how anyone else (shiesty internal editor critic included) could possibly view it.
It's only day two, which is probably like minute number two in a marathon, but I feel great. I have no idea what the end result will be, other than amassing 50,000 words or more of unedited gibber-babble. But for this sporadic scribe, the effort-to-ease programming my brain is currently experiencing threatens to yield some bookworthy li'l baubles. I see substantial literary islands in my stream-of-consciousness sea. That promise feels really good right now; it actually feels solid.
I forgot how innately goal-oriented I am, and how goal-setting's importance shaped so much of what was good in my earlier years. I'm not gonna go all Tarot on you, but Capricorns are climbers. And it's become rather obvious to me that I plateaued some time after graduating from college due to insufficient goal-setting. However, this month-long writing exercise is helping me re-tool one part of myself that has already spilled into other areas of my life.
Namely ...
Thou Shalt Not Snooze
Oooh chirren. I finally done let that Snooze button go. It ain't nothin' but the devil in button-beepin' form and takin' a page out of Aunt Esther's purse-swingin' book, I'm swattin' heathens down with the quickness. Besides Culture Club said it best:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tI1_KlO6xI&ob=av2e]
Now I only discovered that mug five years ago--which interestingly enough coincides with when I adopted Que Sera Sera as my main coping mechanism (with good reason)--but snoozing is one thing that my wellness budget can no longer abide. The effect snoozing has on sleep undermines you the same way the mafia haunted Michael Corleone--just when you think you're all nuzzled and out of wakey-dom it buzzes you back in full tilt, and rudely. The wager snoozing placed on my health was just becoming too high and yesterday was it for me.
I snoozed for a hot hour Monday morning, effectively talking myself out of the morning pages I was going to write and zapping all chances for any sort of workout. By the time I did get out of the bed I felt horrible ... and pissed. I mean I was ticked and when you start your day with a short fuse, there's a part of your soul that becomes the kid hiding in the broom cupboard for cover all damn day. Y'all. The Count from Sesame Street couldn't possibly ah-ah-count the number of mini-explosions that transpired. I mean, they start to feel like the begats in Genesis.
Didn't turn the teapot on soon enough for the water to get hot (because the watched pot don't boil) which begat no tea before work begatting no pre-game caffeine. Boom.
Cold temps outside begat longer heat-up time for car begat me cursing myself because I'm already late. Boom.
Cold temp begats tire pressure light. Boom.
Traffic. Ka-bizzle-boom.
Side-eyeing tire pressure light lighting up my otherwise pretty driver's panel. Boom again.
Arriving at work begats sighing oneself into the seat which begats all-too-chirpity-chimey-up-in-ya-bidness co-worker to begattin' her weekend rundown and askin' about yourn. Boom stickety boom.
Monday morning inbox. Boom.
Moments after finishing what should've been a satisfying-till-lunch-lasting breakfast begats violent Gremliny raid of leftover vats of Halloween candy which begats Tazmanian Devilish snarfing which begats sugar crash in approximately 30 minutes. Boom.
"It's only 10:30?!?!?!" Tick. Tick. Boom.
The booms went on all day, people. Tiny seismic explosions comprised of temper, shot nerves and angst. I was so tired by lunchtime I thought about throwing myself on the floor kicking and screaming and just leaving to go home, but then I remembered that Tuesday could be way worse if I didn't do Monday's work. And you know what I've long felt about Tuesdays.
And then it hit me like the slap I unleashed on my clock that very morning. That dern snooze button. In one fifteen-minute-intervaled hour, it sucked all of the life out of my otherwise very well-rested low-key weekend. It rendered me incoherent, grumbling my way through the day ready to pop or slink off, and I realized it's too early in the week for that nonsense. All my rest and relaxation and crafty inspiration should not be undone so swiftly.
This morning when the alarm went off, I tried something new. I acted, I dunno, alarmed. I immediately shut it off. I even spoke directly to it, "I don't want to hear from your sorry behind again," I said. And I didn't. Instead I went spread eagle in the bed and felt the wakey monster stretch through each toe and my fingers and my neck. I spoke aloud to God, "Thank you and please help me get out of this bed. Now." Then I took three corpse-posin' breaths and literally hit the ground running.
Today has been a breeze. I haven't snapped, haven't mmmhmmed and my left eyebrow has remained in resting position. Shood. I even smiled in the face of someone I usually side-eye. And if that ain't progress, there ain't no such thang!
I now feel ridiculous for all the times I've snoozed; there's nothing that gets my Cappy goat more than lost time. I mean, "time is money" is real! At least as it applies to this wrinkle cream I've been eyeballing. You know I spent half the day yesterday inspecting my face for creams to combat these tired lines. I kid you not. Today though? The lines that I do see are merely laugh lines, and the ones I thought I saw yesterday were apparently trails pining for my pillow 'cause I don't even see 'em today.
I've been a smilin', jovially chattin', mindfully eatin', productive and present person. It's already 4 o'clock to boot, too!
I'm telling you. Try it tomorrow. Set your alarm for whatever time you need to set it, but when it goes off, shut it down, make like James Brown and get on up on the good foot.