I Believe in Myself

Excuse for a moment. I want to rant. I had almost forgotten that I had this blog. It has been so long since I had the desire to even write a note to myself, let alone anything else. But I need this place because I want to rant. And I don't want to post these things on Facebook where my entire family and friends are watching like fucking hawks. Ready to pick apart anything I post or do and "like" it. Or think that it's an open invitation to comment, that it's their right.

So I'm pissed at the kids right now. And hurt. The 17 year old has been asking for several days when we were supposed to go to their grandparents on Christmas Eve. Well, now that the day gets here, she is demanding to know, when they do one tiny chore, if they can then leave to go to their grandparents for fun! Oh joy. We're having Christmas dinner at our house and she thinks that clearing off the coffee table is the extent of what needs to be done to prepare. And she just looks at me like I'm an alien growing another head in front of her when I am incredulous that she thinks that it's all good. And then acts like the fucking injured party when I tell her to get the hell out of my house. The kid acts like she has the weight of the world on her shoulder because she has to babysit her siblings. Gee, I had to babysit my handicapped sister all the time, as well as keep an eye on my older brother, because my parents didn't believe him to be patient enough to do a good job at taking care of his younger sisters.

And now I have the 18 year old storming around cleaning, like she's doing me some huge fucking favour. It just really pisses me off that to these kids, I have turned into nothing more than the source of food and money and comfort when they want it, but I can go fuck myself it I ever need anything. They laugh at me because I am alone, tell me it's my own fault for not having friends. They seem to forget that I put in fifteen years of almost constant isolation from family, friends, even strangers, put up with a philandering, mentally abusive husband, because I didn't want to leave my girls in his hands. It's not something that I can get over in a year, or even two.  I may be back in my hometown now, but that doesn't mean my issues have magically resolved themselves. I still have trouble trusting people, of being out in public, of doing things that are new to me. I keep forcing myself to because I think the reward will be greater than the pain it causes me right now.

It's just getting very hard to keep going when it feels like the only person that believes in me is myself.

Another Year of NaNo

This really sucks. I keep thinking about this, over the court of time and yet, it just doesn't seem important enough.

I really have lost interest in writing. Not lost interest in ever doing it again, but it just seems like so much else has gone on. Since my divorce, where I've recovered my life, moving back to my home town, being the sole supporter of myself and my kids, working, going back to school, I just haven't had time. But worse than that I haven't had the inclination.

I've given it a lot of thought and think that perhaps, because of the situation I was in, married, living in a foreign country, cut off from my family… I think I was writing purely as an escape from all of that. And now that I'm no longer trying to escape the hell that was my life, because that has definitely been accomplished, I no longer feel this driving urge to complete these fantasy worlds that I can retreat to in my mind.

I mean yes, I still think of story lines and conversations my characters might have, but there is no "write it or die!" urge screaming at me anymore.

All that said,  I think I am going to go ahead and give NaNo a good steam and see what I can manage to churn out. Maybe I'll relearn how to carve out small chunks of chapters at a time until they are done. I just have to remember not to start a whole bunch of new things until I get the old things done!