Here is a fun fact about me and my psyche. I can only write when I am at an emotional flatline. Which means I am not happy, sad, angry, desirous of pasta, anything. Any emotion will distract me and soon I will be prancing through flower meadows (happy), crying into my laundry (sad), beating kitchenware into submission (anger), or shaking my pantry back and forth while frothing at the mouth (desirous of pasta – I rarely have anything to eat with the pasta, and pasta is always lonely on my plate).
Stress is the worst.
Stress renders me completely incapable of functioning, especially if it is the dreaded “I am anticipating something horrible happening in less than five hours stress.”
Stress like this means I sit in front of my computer and play Run Elephant Run over and over until my fingers and eyeballs fall off/out, respectively.
Which really sucks when I have so much to do. Especially when it’s writing related.
See, in general, these instances would be perfect for writing. Waiting at my place for some distant relative to arrive? Write. Waiting for a loaf of bread to come out of the oven? Write.
Except in my brain all the time I spend waiting transforms to this horrible stress-party, so I’m sitting in front of my computer like this:
Me: Okay, so I can probably write like 500 words before I have to – oh my god oh my god AUGH I CAN’T TAKE THIS STRESS computer games are nice – no but this scene is really important and once I finish it I can – oh god I can’t finish anything WHY IS THIS TAKING SO LONG – where did I put my notes for – FUCK ALL NOTES AUUUGHHH.
But that happens about fifty times faster than it took for you to read that. And on repeat. Until the dreaded moment has come to pass.