Bad...Continued

Okay, game on.
The whole point of this is that I need to have a little self-control. The siren song of the XBox has already beckoned me towards the reef, but I didn't get dashed upon the rocks...that time. I resisted it yesterday, but I'm heading in for about an hour of fun since I did repent. Maybe I should use the games as a carrot cum reward. For every task accomplished, say a chapter written, I can play a half hour. Each vocal practice equals a commensurate unit of play.

At any rate, here's my to-do list for Winter (need not be sequentially accomplished):

1. Finish Book
2. Audition for band
3. Sing karaoke at a bar
4. Go dancing (can be substituted with dance or martial arts lessons)
5. Play Scrabble with MomJ
6. Make and send cards (I make them but don't send them, usually)
7. Go outside any time it is sunny

There's so many things that popped into my head while making this list. Obligations, duties - things that I berate myself for again and again. But these types of things will not bring joy and change to me. Feeling guilty and whipping myself for things I have not done won't free me from the undertow. Nor will it quench my thirst.

Breathe. And let it out.

Bad Bad Leroy Brown

January 24th is, according to a British psychologist the 'most depressing day of the year.' Why, you may ask? Perhaps for many, wouldn't that be February 14th? (And honey, sometimes that can happen even with a sweetie).
No, the 24th is the day this psych accomplished with a high falutin' formula based upon the days after Christmas, the weather, and the days it takes to break most or all of those resolutions from the New Year. Actually, that most likely occurred within 5-7 days following the puffed-chest pronouncements of the newly reformed.
Unless you're me, of course. I'm a procrastinator, sure. But apparently an overachiever as well. I made the pronouncement that I would keep that gaming to 2 hours per day and I broke it last night! Played about 2 1/2 Halo and 3 Battlefront. All right!
Oops, more later. Have to drop off car at shop.

The Borg Directive

To become part of the creative collective, I need to follow these steps:

• I will not lie to others - Nor to myself
• I will not dream my life away - Nor stop dreaming
• I will not play more than two hours of Battlefront a day - Nor Halo (this is not separately cumulative:)
• I will always have a notepad available for thoughts - And ideas
• I will be healthy - Both mentally and physically
• I will enjoy one thing per week that I have never done - Or I find daunting

Now I need to compile a list of things that I want to do this season (Winter) and do each season of the year. As a Queen Procrastinator, I can't give myself a list for the whole year because then I'll wait until December and set myself up for failure.

I'll have those by COB Monday.

Curling the Linked Chain

Okay, so today is better. I'm sitting at work and thinking about this blog. So I go surfing during lunch and come across some lovelies:
http://blog.stonyrubbish.com/

So pretty - with pictures and thoughts. Has a lot of links to other worthy nodes on the bloghead.

I toyed with the idea briefly of joining a Seattle bloggers group. But alas, I am such a neophite I shrink from this exposure. I think I'll just read about what others do and try to get my hands into the clay by watching others.

What the hell am I doing?

A call for my ages - I read back in my journal. Ever done that? Just pick a page and see who you were then. Well, it's been five years since I wrote about starting in my writing group. It's the last time I was all fired up about my plans. Working on a book, singing, having a direction.
Since then, I've been thirsty and convinced myself I don't know why. I curl my hair around my finger, tilt my head and go "Gee, what's wrong with me?" I have no motivation.
I am once again what I thought I couldn't be - a hausfrau with wilted dreams. Because I've never watered them!
I got married, bought a house, dreamed and dreamed. I've been feeding my dreams with more dreams, so they die. Caught up in alternate storylines. And I've felt vaguely guilty about that. I go to Vegas and explode, I come home and die.
But man, I'm just starting on my thirties (like being 16 for guys), and it's really beginning to bug the shit out of me. I play Battlefront with so much more fervor these last few weeks, I tell ya.
So this log. Write every couple of days. Hope someone will write something back to me to inspire or piss me off - because the only way my ass gets moving is when I'm really gut-wrenchingly angry or ashamed.
And man, I was both earlier. I talk to myself while doing the dishes - trying to vocalize what the fuck is up with me. And I realized that I haven't done anything truly new for so long. I've listened to new music but I haven't gone anywhere truly new. I go to work, come home and do more work and housework. I'm drowning in my responsibilities and have nothing to show for it. I thought I could at least count on a da Vinci education - real life over pretentious memorization. But it hasn't materialized because I, like most I know, am the opening scenes of Shawn of the Dead. Just a zombie without the fun Fx.
And so this strange juxtaposition of eternal drowning and the burning thirst.