Monday Madness

Hello Monday, you evil serpentine element of my psyche.
I'm a little nutty most Mondays. Especially ones after I had the weekend off, like this past one. My weekends are pretty epic and delicious, so when A leaves for work, there's this huge void suddenly. 
Separation Anxiety can suck it. It's so not who I normally am, but on Mondays, it rears its ugly head and I spend all morning dodging it. I don't work until afternoon on Mondays, and from about 10 a.m. to 1, I try to stay busy (or asleep) and have to stifle mini panic attacks that threaten to rise up. It's ugly, it is. Three stupid hours of hell, and then I can distract myself with getting ready for work.
A part of it is reverse SAD, which has always plagued me about this time of year most of my life. I get an overwhelming feeling of being left out of something- I feel like everyone is off doing something summery and fun and I'm left behind. Which is stupid in itself, because I'm naturally a loner and I don't give a shit if people are off cavorting around. I cavort by myself just fine.
I think it traces back to my childhood, when I was always facing pressure to be more active, and more sports/team oriented. It was even worse when my mom moved us out to the country, and the community there was so sports oriented. Once I started working on the neighboring farms, I had a very active lifestyle, it just wasn't on a team. I've always hated organized sports, "those kinds of kids"  intimidated the fuck out of me.
 But anyways, I'm going to really concentrate on my novel, and hopefully get most of the final battle scene done. I'm anxious to be done with this one, and when I need motivation, I think about how I'd rather be a full-time writer than having a real job. I mean, I've made tremendous progress in getting a career going, but when it comes down to brass tacks (hehe, that's the first time I've ever used that expression!) I'd rather be writing.
  So let's all remember to just breathe today, ok? Everything is going to be fine.
K

Dial-Up Dandy

I took a break from working on my dark novel, Requiem. I've got ideas for at least two new characters, and the meshing of my own experiences, mixed with fiction, is melding nicely. In a way, this is my 'stripper novel'. It's been much easier to write about the stripper lifestyle since leaving the industry, perhaps since I'm no longer battling the frustration and anxiety about being involved in it. 

I check my phone- someone has tweeted me back, both of us comparing how much writing procrastination/Twitter stalking we're guilty of. We agree that we need to put Twitter down.
 
It makes me think back on the earlier Internet days. When I was still living with my mom, using a mind-numbingly slow dial-up connection. Yahoo chat rooms were my thing back then- do they still exist? There was one or two that I would frequent on a daily basis, and there would be a lot of the same people always in them. I was way younger than everyone in them, and I always wondered about their lives, if they still managed to crank out a worthy existence while obviously glued to their computer seat (yes, this was before worldwide mobile phone usage, and apps). 
After a few weeks, these little chat rooms would start to feel comfortable and fun, and I would get enthusiastically greeted upon "entering". I miss those chat rooms. 
At the foolish and horny age of eighteen, I even had a one-night stand with a much older chat room user that I had been chatting with for several months & had developed a very flirtatious (as in naughty web-cam back & forths) relationship with. Looking back at how very, very, bad that situation could have turned out, I would bitch slap the fuck out of my 18-year old self. Lucky for me, he was the same funny, intelligent, ballroom dance instructor that I had been chatting too, and we had a great night together. (My 18-year old self wasn't completely driven by hormones- I did have a jack knife in my purse, which I kept right by the bed. 'Cuz even she understood to a degree that you never know.) 
Oh, and DID I catch shit when I got home!! (Someone forgot to let her best friend know that she had told her mom that she was spending the night, and that that friend should cover for said girl in case unsuspecting mother called the friend's house.) 
 Busted.