"It's the little things in life you treasure." Fred Kwan, Galaxy Quest
Normally, I agree with Fred. Celebrate the small stuff because that's all most of us will ever see.
The last couple of weeks, however, it's been hard to enjoy even the small stuff. I want to blame hormones, but it's more likely the little, unexpected, mostly unpleasant changes happening in my life.
The Olympics have put a complete end to my TV routine for I don't know how long. That shouldn't be a bad thing, but it is disruptive. One of my cats has cavities that must be treated. Several of my friends are changing their life circumstances in ways that directly affect my life circumstances. My car sickens while I put aside money to buy a new one. My dog sprouts these little blisters that may or may not be heat-related. My daily Bible reading just finished Isaiah and has started in Jeremiah. Have you read Jeremiah? Road construction has forced a change of driving routine and added about 5 minutes to my commute, which totals 20 minutes more a day in the hot car avoiding stupid people in the same situation. Grandma Turtle's one year anniversary just passed and I miss her. I have a tingling in my left hand that may be nerve-related instead of jaw-related and I don't want to deal with it. I intended to garden this morning and instead spent two hours trying to deal with my hacked email account. I'm now so wound up with frustration, I don't know what to do with myself.
Yes, they're all small, ultimately meaningless tripe, but they're wearing me down.
Add to them the writing issues, and I'm thinking about packing up my cats and moving somewhere far, far away. Not Idaho. Apparently stupid people live there.
I eavesdrop on several writing groups. I rarely jump in for various reasons depending on the group, but I follow the discussions somewhat. I need to stop.
Aslan tells Lucy in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader that no good comes from eavesdropping, and he's right. Proverbs says gossip is like a tasty morsel going down that sours the stomach. I've got the stomach to prove it.
I now worry that I didn't do justice to Ehsu's dialogue, that good stories don't include God because God as the ultimate superpower removes all tension, that my preferred writing style (and reading style, btw) of "plump with description" instead of "action-focused" (I may post on that later) means I'm a poor writer who lacks the ability to edit herself and that writing as a job will shortly go the way of the dodo, so everything I do at this computer is utterly meaningless.
That could be the depression talking.
It's important to remember, people, behind the arrogance of the writer is a huge well of self-doubt. We're putting ourselves out there in a show of bravery, but that doesn't mean we're brave or that we have everything figured out or that we even think we've done a good job. It just means we're trying.
I'm my own worst critic. I don't need more reasons to doubt myself.
I am searching for those little things to treasure, but at the moment, they are few and far between. I hope your life is full of them.