On a side note : I’ve posted about balls before … and am starting to fear that a trend may be developing …
I don’t know if I’m overly tired, burnt out, suffering from serve writers block or simply at the end of my mental capacity rope … but regardless … I think I have too many balls in the air right now to function like a normal human being. So, yeah, I’m going to bitch for a brief moment and let it dangle in the air of this blog forever …
Let me start off by telling you … I put regular gas in my car today. No big deal, right? Except, my car that takes PREMIUM gas. I’ve not bought regular gas in … oh … 5 years? My past car and current … both premium … and yet, today I suddenly forgot. That’s where I’m at … really normal, totally common sense, everyday things fail to register with me. And I stood there like a complete asshole watching the low-octane stuff flood my tank thinking, oh shit, this isn’t right. Did I do anything about it? No. I just watched it happen and shook my head at my own stupidity.
Normally, I love the holidays. I love seeing my family, I love baking cookies and wrapping presents and all that other mid-winter brouhaha. This year … not so much. I feel stressed even thinking about it. I tried (tried being the key word) to bake sugar cookies tonight. I laid everything out … the kitchen was “just so” … I was maybe even a little excited. I cut those damn cookies into stars and snowflakes and trees … and then once they made it into the oven … they just seriously EXPLODED. I’ve never seen cookies blow up like that … my God, they were like dough balloons. My pretty little cookies turned into gobs of half-baked disasters and again … I just watched it happen totally useless to fix it. So that, along with the gas, was a true WTF moment.
I looked at Mark and I just sighed — because really, what else could I offer him? Sorry I possibly ruined the car and Christmas in the span of 12 hours?
He gave me a hug, probably thinking I’d gone off the wall, and tried to tell me it was fine. Actually, no, he tried to recut the cookies post apocalypse — and looked really wounded when I said “that was a good try, honey.” Which, of course, just make me feel more like an asshole because I wasn’t one enough already. But, frankly, the redo wasn’t so much helpful as hysterical.
Here is the only reasonable conclusion I can draw … I have to many things bouncing around right now to do any one of them really well. For a multi-tasker like myself … that’s a big pill to swallow.
My mind looks something like this:
writing—>holidays—>holidays—>real job—>real job—>writing—>writing—>holidays … lather, rinse, repeat.
When I try to think anything exclusively, everything else is vying for my attention. I need to get better at this. But until then … I have to drop some balls.
Christmas rant over.