I’m sitting here in my newly cleaned office. I can smell the gooshy cat food I gave my fuzzballs earlier this evening and I can hear my mother blowing her nose downstairs.
I may or may not be avoiding getting started on my nano work for today.
I’ve done the damned activity before. I’ve finished before, and I’ve been nervous about it before. But this year I feel kind of weird.
The last several months, almost a full year since I was promoted to my new job, I’ve not done a lot of writing, creative activity, or honestly anything that used to make me happy. That isn’t to say that I’m unhappy or anything – although some days I’m grumpier than others. I just have been doing a lot of work. A lot of mentally draining work. I do not have a physically taxing work, but I have a job that requires a lot of precision and thinking of all kinds of weird specifics that no one else has thought of in an attempt to make sure that people learn as well as they possibly can and are able to do their job.
I like my job.
Well, most days I like my job.
There are a lot of things changing and some things that are cementing, and just lately I’ve begun to wonder if my job is secure. Of course as the country continues to act like a rolling dumpster fire of doom I’m not sure any job is really secure, but in this specific situation, I’m just not sure about my job.
I’ve invested a lot of time and a lot of energy into my work, and just the last few months I’ve begun to wonder if continuing to amuse myself by attempting creativity and dancing around with words is really a worthwhile pursuit. All that wondering has led to me shutting up, and just the other day I realized that all the shutting up is kind of making me tense.
So, November, NaNo, might as well give it a try. Even if I just get back into the habit of talking to myself, I feel like it is worthwhile to spend some time talking to myself and investing in something that I love and that makes me happy.
The NaNo page has a tagline that says “The world needs your novel.” Pretty sure the world couldn’t give two rips about my novel nor does the world need my novel. But I think that I do, I think I need my novel and the words and the time alone with my thoughts.
Here I go.