For instance, I want to put up a link list and change this site around, but it will take too much time. If I give this blogging thing more than an hour per day I feel guilty. Guilty? Yes because it is not real. It has no purpose. It produces nothing. It is just me navel gazing on screen. All this is okay if done during off hours for entertainment, but not okay if it is taking up time during working hours. It is a big waist (hee, hee) of my time. And I am beginning to resent it. And I can't stop.
A friend asked me how long it took my to craft my posts? Craft? I run up here type hell bent for election, hit "publish" and run away. Not a craft in sight. And it shows. Only sometimes I get caught. I love to read all the other blogs. Then I just have to respond. This takes time. I am spending hours up here reading and thinking and writing, when I should be working. Part of the problem is the computer situation. This is Mark's computer in Mark's office. I can only use it during the day. He uses it most evenings. I keep saying I am going to get another computer so I can "play" in the evenings on my "little" blog. But I feel guilty about spending a bunch of money for another "pointless writing toy."
Where do I get this crap?
My worker bee self is at war with this new writer self. My worker bee self thinks writing is okay if you are talented and making money wallowing around in all this verbiage. But otherwise it is a complete waste of time. Why would you be taking up valuable day time writing what is in essence a diary. Who the hell cares about all your junk but you? If you have to write all this stuff down get a decent paper book and have at it in the evenings or on Sundays. Stop using up your most alert, insightful, motivated time at the computer. You need this energy to keep daily life functioning, i.e. cleaning the toilet and doing the laundry.
The shaky, hesitant, insecure writer self says, "But what about everything I am learning. And creating?"
"Honey you are not creating anything. It is a diary for God's sake. And you are not Tolstoy and no one is interested in your mundane life. This is just more pointless introspection. Who cares when and if you lose a pound or get the cats wormed? Stop writing and do the dishes."
(I tell you what, I am getting damn sick of all these personality components bossing me around.)
"Well" the insecure writer self says, "maybe I could compromise. I will work all morning and then write in the afternoon.
"Okay says Miss Worker Bea, but see that you do actually do this."
It is 10:00 a.m.. Sigh.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea.