Artistic Temperament? Or Batshit Crazy?

There are days when random, meaningless thoughts seem to ricochet around the inside of my skull causing so much static and echo that I can't focus. Today would be one of those days. It is odd how lack of sleep and a few thoughtless remarks can send my brain into a tailspin. I would love to be unaffected by those around me, to be able to armor myself against negative influences (whether intentional or not). The more I need my emotional strength, the more affected I am by what goes on around me. It is like being hypersensitive to noise, unable to shut out the background chaos or ignore the voices that seem like shouting in my ears. Solitude is my white noise, my escape from overstimulation.
Now, alone, in my squat little house, the rain pounding the windows and the wind wailing under the eaves, I begin to settle down. To rein in the torrential thoughts and feelings that can send me skittering wildly through the rocky landscape of my hyperactive emotions. If only I could find a means to harness the energies attached to the wild side of my emotions, to bottle it, to save it for times of great need, to put on the pantry shelf with my tomatoes and peaches. And like tomatoes and peaches, that energy is hard to find, and very expensive at this time of year, so it is shameful when someone breaks the jar and spills it recklessly.
People wonder why I keep to myself through the dark days of winter, accuse me of being antisocial, temperamental, or worse "silly." But it is to carefully guard my energies from those who would bleed it off of me, or unknowingly spill it through harsh words or careless acts. I like to think of it as "Artistic Temperament" and leave it at that. After all, isn't every artist entitled to the solitude of their studio or studies? And Artistic Temperament sounds so much better than Batshit Crazy.

Spring? Not yet. Not yet.

Today, I actually believed that spring may have been flirting with me like the coy, mature woman who knows that she will eventually, willingly give of herself... but not yet. Not yet.  Trillium appear like a flash of lace, crocuses like a hint of bold lipstick. The breeze like a soft, warm touch with just the barest hint of a cool demeanor.  She flirts, shows just a brief hint of her skills then slips away into the cold of the night. Will I see her again tomorrow? Or will she stay away for days on end, taunting me with her diffidence?
She is skilled at the game of creating want and need. Building desire with her absence until despair is just around the corner, and then she will approach me again, taunting me with a hint of her perfume; Hyacinth, Jonquil, Daphne. The sweet, delicate fragrances of cherry blossom and new grass. Wafting on a soft breeze that follows a morning rain, warmed by the sun breaking through the canopy of cumulus clouds.
I see her colors just beginning dust the trees. Bright green haze seen out of the corner of my eye, but hiding from my direct gaze. She is such a flirt, offering herself, then hiding away as if to remind me, "Not yet. Not yet."

Sometimes Optimism Works, Sometimes It Is A Pain In The Ass

I am the eternal optimist. Even in my deepest depressions there is a part of me that knows it will get better. The downside of this is that it puts me in the position of being the chronic cheerleader/therapist. I am the one that always looks for the silver lining, the one who tries to convince my fellows that even though all looks gloomy, pointless and despairing, that there is a positive to be found. It is a pain in the ass. It is exhausting being the one voice of reason and optimism when all those around me are bemoaning their condition, and acting like deer in the headlights.
I won't let our economic situation turn me into another naysaying piece of roadkill. But damn, I wish I got paid for my therapist work, or at least had the body of a cheerleader.

Bootstraps Getting a Helluva Workout

I am more resilient than I usually give myself credit for. Another weekend passes and another let down. Drove an hour to look at a house I was very excited about just to discover that 2 of the neighbors look like potential tweakers. Not my idea of a safe environment. Oh well, at least this time I did the rejecting. I'm not sure why I continue my real estate self flagellation. I'm not pre-approved, don't make much money, and my job is tenuous at best. But still I persevere because I don't know what else to do.
Then today, I got another politely worded rejection email from a potential job. I had high hopes for this one, I would have been good at it. But once again I am rejected before even making the interview round. Am I delusional to think I can be hired out of the tight sphere of my current job field? I am good at what I do, and the skills would easily transfer to any office position. I think so anyway.
This brings me to my current state of mind. Do I keep plugging away, getting rejection after rejection, obviously NOT having what they are looking for in these basic, entry level office jobs? Or do I try and change directions? Again. My whole reason for pursuing government jobs within the criminal justice/code enforcement realm was to try and break free of the banality of sales and office work. But would it really be any different. Same job different office? What is the definition of insanity? Repeating the same action over and over, hoping for a different outcome? Is that what I am doing?
Regardless of the insanity of my actions, whether it be the self flagellation, or continuing to pursue jobs that the government obviously does not think I am qualified for, I managed to end the day on a decently high note. I refuse to let myself be beaten down by my circumstances. I won't let myself stop having some small scrap of a dream, despite the multitude of let downs I have faced over the last few years.
A friend told me that I am overdue to have the Luck Dam break, and I am. Long overdue. I have spent so much of the last few years either waiting for others to fulfill promises, or reaching out just to be slapped down. I keep pulling myself up by the proverbial bootstraps and attempting to carry on. I dust myself off of the debris of the latest fall, hold my head up and move forward. That is until something or someone tries to knock me back down a notch. But I refuse to give up on myself and my dreams, schemes and plans.
Tonight is a good night to write, and dream.

Goals, Unreasonable and Otherwise

Goals. We set them as the gold standard. The high bar to to strive for personal best and success. I often set myself with impossible goals; Retire at 50 (yeah, like THAT will happen, seeing as how I'm now 49), the perfect life, the perfectly restored vintage home on many acres, the new car, a stable full of motorcycles. I guess these are more realistically the "if I won the lottery" dreams than actual goals.
So where do I stand on goals? I have set myself a few, one being to work on my writing every day. Not so unrealistic, until another goal intrudes: a home with acreage. The dilemma? I have found such a home, it is cheap (for a reason, I'm sure) therefore affordable for me on my own, single income. Why is that a problem, you might ask. Because my brain is now firing on all cylinders with the vague, vain hope that I might actually be able to buy a home of my own. Again, you may wonder why that is a problem. The problem is that with the dream/fantasy of my own home, that is ALL I can think of. It drives any other thoughts from my mind. I can't even focus on the simple tasks. All I can think of is The House. Hell, I've even picked out paint and I haven't seen the place in real life yet.
Now, I try repeatedly to force myself back to reality. I haven't seen the place yet, but will at 2pm today. I am not approved for the loan yet, so that could crush my dreams. There may already be another offer on the home, which is why it was pulled off the market after 24 hours the last time it was listed. I worry that I am setting myself up for another cataclysmic Fail, with a capital F. I get so excited and then get knocked back to earth, and it gets harder to pick myself up each time. I can't help it, it is the way my brain operates. But I have to keep trying.
I do wish I could get my brain to settle down though, I'm afraid it will stay stuck in high gear until it burns itself out. Not to mention how exhausting it all is. I just need to get through today, see the house, make an offer and take my chances that everything will go through all right. Yes, I'm a bit of a gambler and don't mind leaping before I look. Some day, that is liable to damage me beyod repair, but I have to think "but not today."

More Goals....

Never one to sit on my ass and wait for death, I've been formulating/reformulating The Plan. Yes, in capital letters: The Plan. Often, I find that when despair and dejection seem to have a firm hold on my psyche all I need to do to loosen the painful grip, is to come up with a legitimate Plan. This gives me a new path, or repaves an old one. Gives me a course of action. Lets me act instead of react. And these are definitely times that call for action more than reaction. I want to call the shots, not be the one ducking the shots.
As I pull myself up by the proverbial bootstraps, dust the gravel from my ass and bandage any new road-rash, I peer up a newly paved path. Yes, it is repaved. It isn't a new path, but one I have been trying to traverse, and have been sliding off into the ditch over and over. Okay, maybe not a full-blown, smooth as glass, repaving. But at least I am going to try and fill in the potholes and sweep away loose gravel.
The Plan, as I see it, still revolves around finishing the novella. I am fully cognizant of the fact that I most likely will not make much, if any, money off of this venture. But it has become a point of pride. I will finish the damned thing and see it in print and on eBook before another winter locks me in it's frigid, suffocating grasp. So, to this end I will write something every day, even if it is just changing a few salient words. I will work every day.
The next phase of The Plan invloves continuing to blog. A writer's blog. More random ramblings, but maybe a little more PC and "for public eyes". This may involve deleting some of my posts here (now done), so be it.
There is also the need to create a webpage. It will have a link to my blog, or possibly a blog section of its own. It will have excerpts from current and upcoming works. It will have a bio. And I think it could very well be home to: "The Madcap Adventures of Geezer and Bean," an offshoot from the current novella. Why this particular piece of fiction? Because I think the characters have the most potential for further misadventure.
So: Write, Blog, Webpage.
Oh yeah, and PUBLISH. Gotta publish.
My writing and my health are all that I feel I have some control over right now, so that is where I will focus my energies. It makes more sense to spend energy where it will be useful, instead of wasting energy on the dead-end aspects of my life that I have no control over and which only pile on the stress.
The Plan. I can do it. Myself. Solo. I have myself, I need no one else.

Dead End Street?

There are days, like today, when I feel like my life is a series of dead end streets.  I try so very hard to keep moving forward, swim against the current, find alternate paths, but every route I take seems to slam me up against a wall.  I have brick marks on my forehead at this point. There have been so many attempts and faliures this year, it is hard to keep picking myself up and trying again. Days like today, and too many lately, I wonder if I should just give up, sit back and let fate do with me what she will. Life feels out of my control.
Job: do I just ride this one out until it is gone? Stay put with no hopes or aspirations for anything else? The stress at work from watching my boss slowly give in to inertia and depression is a tangible force that makes me nauseated. The tension that builds in my shoulders and neck feels like it will peel my scalp off of my skull. It takes me at least thirty minutes of pounding down a forested path before the stress is reduced enough that I can again form coherent thoughts. Is this any way to live? Do I have a choice? Not at the moment.
I know I will keep trying to find viable alternatives to slow death by inertia. I wish I had no restraints to prevent me from widening my scope. No such luck. Keep pounding down the path, bouncing off the brick wall, falling on my ass, picking myself up, and trying the next fork in the road. Alone. Solo. I have myself, I need no one else.