It’s been a year and a half. I feel so guilty for not writing. In 2014 I thought I would end up writing every day. I could see myself developing my website, getting a theme, reading all the different ways to make money with my blog. And then on April 8, 2014, I quit. I didn’t taper off. I just stopped. It’s what I do.
I can never adopt a routine, except putting my pjs on the second I walk in the door from work and vegging out in from of the tv, computer, or my Kindle. Why can’t I write like I read? Books are like crack to me. I can’t get enough. When I’m feeling sad, angry, worthless, hopeless, self-loathing, or pretty much any negative emotion, I turn to books. I find myself reading at stop lights, gauging the amount of time before my lane will need to move. I read as I’m walking to and from my car before and after work. I head to bed dead tired but try to get one more chapter in. I read while I do chores or make dinner. It doesn’t even have to be a book I’ve never read before. I’ve reread five of my favorite series at least a dozen times. I download free books by the dozens to my kindle and gobble them up.
Books allow me to escape my life and live another one. I get to live a guilt free life full of adventure and bravery. I get to take risks and don’t have to pay any consequences…well except for lack of sleep or punishment for ignoring my wife while I read. They give ma a vacation from life.
I NEED a vacation. I was due for a vacation after July 8th. I even went so far as to request the time off, see if my brother and slish (sister-in-law-ish) would let us spend the week at their house, asked a friend to take care of the cat, etc. But then Mercy’s dad got sick and passed away. Well, “got sick” really means that he drank himself to death, but it took two hospital stays of 2-3 weeks each for him to finish the job. Sorry, it’s hard for me to be compassionate about that situation.
Okay, those two sentences ramped up the guilt some more.
Needless to say my vacation was canceled. Not that it matters too much because vacations are a concept that I will never grasp. Don’t get me wrong, I get a paid week of vacation at my job. But taking a vacation…a real honest to goodness, go somewhere out of town, pay for lodging, food and activities, take pictures of the adventure VACATION is something I’ve only been able to do twice maybe 3 times in 18 years. I can’t afford to take a vacation, and the idea makes me sad and nervous. I know that I’ll feel guilty if I don’t plan things that are fun for Mercy, but then I’ll feel even more guilty afterwards for the choices that I made.
I feel guilty about soooo many things. If only I wouldn’t build things up in my head so much, that the only possible outcome is crashing down to an explosive fiery death. I just got through ‘spending my millions’ due to the high Powerball jackpot. Like millions of other people, my dreams went crashing down when I wasn’t one of the three winners. I’m not an idiot. I know the odds. I know that I’ll never win the jackpot. But you can’t win if you don’t play. I know, even when I’m ‘spending my millions’, that it is just a pipe dream. The only way to get ahead is to work hard.
I am the hardest worker at my job. No, I’m the hardest worker at EVERY job that I’ve had. I’m not being egotistical. I could give you the phone numbers of every one of my past employers and they would tell you the same thing. I take ownership and pride in my work. I strive to make my bosses’ lives easier. It took me 20 years to get a job that recognizes this AND can/does reward me for the hard work. Too bad it is not with a larger company that could afford benefits.
I put so much energy into my job, but then my personal life is just chaos. I have spent my whole adult life living paycheck to paycheck with nothing to show from it. My only asset is my car. I can’t even get a credit card. And I’m sick of thinking, talking, writing about always being broke. Maybe that’s why I stopped writing.