I think there’s a reason why one of the cities in Hell is called Dis. It starts so many unpleasantnesses. Dispute, disarray, disability… and disorganised.
[And let me make it clear here and now that having a disability is made extra unpleasant by all the abled people running around who repeatedly fail to understand]
Way back before Asperger’s was a thing, I was diagnosed as “brilliant but disorganised” and that has been a thing for the remaining thirty-something years I have experienced this cruel world.
My brain, as Thomas Dolby once sang, is like a sieve.
For instance – I forgot to blog, yesterday. I got all caught up in literally everything else. Got some things accomplished, true, but I still felt like:
Which is just another aspect of my disordered thinking. Missed one thing? Might as well have done nothing. So to purge that hypnotic feeling incited by faffing around on Youtube for most of the day I actually blogged… I should list the shit I actually got done:
- Finally posted my Patron rewards and explained why one entry has a lifetime.
- Instant story
- Word count for Clockwork Souls
- God only knows how many words in my assorted fanficcery because I never count that noise
- posting chapters of said fanficcery according to my self-enforced timetable
- touched my GOAL WEIGHT! WOOOO!
Okay, so I’m still 400g over my goal weight, but that’s like two cans of coke. Harder to shift when it’s body blubber, but expressing it in cans of coke makes a touch more sense. And this, I am counting as a win.
I have been battling my weight since the kids were born. At my peak, I weighed one hundred and two(102) kilos. For those struggling with metric, that’s two hundred and twenty-four(224) pounds, or sixteen(16) stone. I’ve gone through every diet that didn’t have a price tag attached and got as low as eighty-five(85) kilos before I cracked and packed it on again.
I once believed that I would never weigh less than eighty kilos.
But this morning, I weighed in at 70.4 [~155 pounds or 11 stone] and I am definitely calling the win. And I owe it all to Ketogenics. It’s not a diet for everyone, but it certainly firkin worked for me.
I guess the chafing point in all of this is the fact that my usual avenues of communication are cut off, so the potential win of gaining a contract with an agent is potentially lost in the aether. I don’t know if I’m winning or losing there. And spending most of one day faffing about on YouTube probably didn’t do me any favours.
Which means that part of my constantly-addled brain has latched on to the Grindstone Fallacy.
That’s what I call it. I have no idea what it actually is named. But it’s the idea that an Indie Artist has to be producing their art all the time. That they should constantly have their nose to the grindstone, so to speak, in order to truly earn their income.
That sort of thing is just sheer unsustainable. The human brain is not meant to be operating all the time. We need sleep. Breaking the day up into three eights just makes sense. Eight hours’ work, eight hours’ rest, and eight hours’ play. We should be having that as a default. But somewhere along the way – and I’m side-eyeing the Reagan Era hard – we got into this philosophy that if we’re not working every hour and not earning enough to be comfortable, then that’s because we’re lazy.
And I’m there. I’m in that head space. I think that because I’m not working on something “real” in the terms of the job market, I’m not really working. So I don’t let myself have the time to chill and stabilise my mind. And following from that is depression, exhaustion, and a certain amount of feeling like Sisyphus on the hillside. Add to that some form of energy-draining lurgi and we have ourselves a downward spiral.
Which makes everything wrong with my head get even worse.
I have this weekend booked for gameplay and faffing about. End of.