I quit work in order to write. Well, mostly. Like all things, the motivations are more complex and multi-sided including health difficulties, but the reality of my day to day is that I have no job and all the time in the world to write. Hmm, what I wanted to express in this post came out so much better in my head while I was showering. Basically, I'm terrified, and guilty-feeling for not being A+ productive suburbanite. Because nobody gets to quit thier job and do what they WANT all day! Unless you are going to college, of course, so that is how I justify this to myself - I'm basically having a self-created internship, or creative writing workshop - and the only money I pay for it is the money I lose by not working. It's a lovely cycle of self-justification and nagging guilt and feeling like a total ass to think that anything will ever come of my writing. And then I just have to try to get the fuck outside myself and worrying about all this and just write, or rather, edit, the Persephone novel. Which I've done in these total of two days into this crazy freedom land of no-work.
I'm just not good at transitions. I don't have a routine, and all I am doing is thinking, which gives me horrible insomnia when I'm not in the mindless go-go-go routine of work. And then I'm sleepy when I go to write, and then there is no point in any of it and I should have just stayed at my crap job that was horrible and suffered unhappily like a good little suburbanite.