When I lost my job, nearly a year ago now, it was a huge blow. To my ego, to our finances, to our prospects.
I had to give up my dream of spending my fifth anniversary in Paris. One shouldn’t consider international travel on a fixed income decided by the Department of Unemployment Insurance.
I got lonely, and depressed, and I went inward. Worse than that, I escaped from myself. I put on twenty pounds, I read a lot of escapist fiction. I spent a lot of time in my pajamas. I applied, half-heartedly, for jobs I didn’t want. I got rejected. The spiral of self-loathing continued. It was a dark winter.
About six months later, I started to wake up. I started to blog again, I jumped into the Twitter stream. I rejoined Weight Watchers, and committed to doing yoga and WiiFit. I got some leads on jobs. I applied for a dream job, and was okay when it didn’t pan out.
Then, without warning, the last two weeks dimmed a little. In the midst of the heat and humidity, the stress from my new job, new financial woes, and the immense responsibility I placed on myself to self-improve–must blog! must eat healthfully! must be wry and witty in 140 characters or less!–I started to backslide.
There are less posts up this month than I’d like. I’ve all but stopped working out, and my food choices? Out of control again. My novel-in-progress is at a standstill, despite my having a definite idea of where it’s going, and a real love for my characters.
And you know what?
Today? That’s okay.
I’m going to do some laundry, read my Phillipa Gregory novel, do some yoga, and not worry about it. Hopefully, the Nerd Mafia will forgive me for missing the deadline and the malarky.