And just like that, the day got better
Eid Mubarak to all…
Had an idyllic day off work yesterday. Indulged in some chronic ‘spoilt-daughter’ behaviour at home, courtesy of parents visiting from India.
“What’s for breakfast?…Yaaaawwwn.” – At 9 a.m.
“Yaaaaaaaaawn,, some tea then shall we?” – At 4 p.m.
“Yaaaawn… I think I’ll have an early night” – At 8:30 p.m.
So ideally, the day should have gone off well in a comfortable mixture of sloth and gluttony.
Then why is it that in between asking Mummy for something edible every 5 minutes, and laughing over lil Ryan’s antics, something was nagging my conscience? The writer alter-ego was NOT happy.
The rest of my life is going according to Plan A (Plan B does not exist for me. Chaos is what exists if there is no Plan A).
- Family – check
- Friends – check
- Job – check
- Cordial relationship with the mirror and weighing scale – check (most of the days)
The beds are getting made, the meals are getting cooked, the conversations are being spoken, but in ‘Writer’s Land’, all is not well. Talk about epic Writer’s Block. No shortage of ideas, I can assure you. I have about a dozen half-finished drafts begging to be completed. They might sprout virtual mushrooms anytime soon from being left behind on my computer as long as they have been.
I start off with an idea, utterly positive that this is going somewhere. And ironically it does go somewhere. Only ‘somewhere’ is the overflowing pathetic Drafts folder on my comp
And so yesterday I resorted to some very sub-standard, masochistic writer behaviour.
Typical behaviours included:
1. I pried about in other successful blogger turned columnist/writer websites being my own self-confidence’s biggest enemy. Bad Wannabauthor! Bad! Bad! Bad!
2. Went browsing in Penguin’s Publishers website on their bestsellers. Oh will the self-inflicted torture never end?
3. Went and re-read an old Archies comic. Ok, wait that supposed to have been therapeutic but it was one of those Summer Digests, so everyone was in swimsuits, and that depressed me some more because I had been on an eating binge like Jughead with half his metabolic rate. Bummer.
End Result: Felt like the B-grade actress who got passed off by the photographer at a Page 3 party. Dejected and very much wannabe.
Course of Action : I typed up my feelings on the blog, flagged it as Private, as to not get published. A little diary entry if you may call it. I am no novice to diary entries, though I gave up on actual physical leather-bound diaries in my teenage.
Reason 1: Handwriting aka the inexcusable drawl that seeped out my pen and polluted papers it came in contact. with. Couldn’t read it myself after a while. Probably the local pharmacist might give it a try but no one else will dare.
Reason 2: “P talked to me after Chemistry period, but I think T had a problem with that. I am convinced Q can solve this“.
I went to elaborate (alphabetical) lengths to hide the identity of all high-school crushes, friends and enemies, but it ended up as mysteries later on.
Note: This part of the post was added later on (about an hour later)
I am sure someone did a study on the positive effects of writing on your morale before. Because I am a perfect example!
As soon as I clicked Save on this post, within an hour it seemed like the day just got better, I got that “high”, a buzz, call it whatever you may. But the general feeling was one of contentment.
Sure people weren’t knocking down my doorway quoting phrases off my writing. But the writing was healing in itself. Putting the feelings into words and then reading your own words off a computer screen have that effect. Team that up with a bar of chocolate and you’re ready to face the world.
Current mental health: Very much a wannabauthor still, but a happier one