Patience is a Virtue

Some days I feel like I need to stand outside and scream myself mute. Those are the days where my brain decides to get hyperactive about everything going on in my life. It gets very impatient and needs to finish something, anything and goes ballistic trying to find the task it can accomplish.

It all started out very innocent. I thought I'd check out the class transcripts at FM and see what I've been missing. There was a class by Sheila on getting organized. Seeing the mess that is my writing notebook and the schedule that I followed for maybe two weeks before it became an intriguing piece of wall decor, I decided I'd read that. (NOTE: I am also procrastinating getting back into Red Rocks. Can you tell?) Sheila gave tons of great advice about getting even expenses organized since writers = small business to the IRS. My brain, eager to accomplish something as the day of the final move looms, starts hopping around eagerly, making plans for purchasing a small accordian folder and new filing cabinets and...and...etc. And then I continued on, seeing Sheila's tips for organization. One was to organize space and time for writing. The brain goes wild again, thinking about everything I'm going to do to set up my space in the new apartment. Now, much of this is stuff I've already worked out. But, of course, I can't do anything about that until Saturday at the earliest, Sunday more likely.

The brain, getting frustrated that I can't go to the new apartment right now and put all these brilliant ideas into actions, decides to try a new tactic. It goes bonkers telling me everything I still need to accomplish by Saturday to make the final move go smoothly. It reminds me of all the addresses I need to change. And so on and so forth. I shout to my noggin' that I can't do any of those things from work because everything I need to do is at home and I will take care of it tonight.

Brain is NOT satisfied. It tells me everything I should be doing with the three novels I'm working on. Simultaneously. It's a wonder I don't have Denise trying to cure lung cancer while falling in love with a magical ghost (well, no one else but me would get that that's a mesh of all three books *sigh*). So my limbs start jerky motions to each of the three notebooks I've got with me to start the frenzied process of working on all three books at once. I forcibly shut down the movements and scold the brain that, amusing as it might be to watch, the body really isn't up to that this particular Wednesday.

Exasperated, the brain finally lands on the one thing I can accomplish - emailing a couple pals about life and such and generally catching up. But by this point, I'm so dizzy and mentally drained that all I want to do is stare at the computer clock readout and count the minutes until 4:30. (NOTE: I have also been procrastinating corresponding with friends. I figure I'll wait until I know if I made it into the final round of the RMFW writing contest before I send a note catching people up on my life of the past six months.)

Is it 4:30 yet?