So yeah, this weariness isn’t going away. Which sucks because I was in a good mood this weekend.
I had asked God for a tiny sign that what I’m doing – currently unemployed and working my butt off writing instead of looking for work – is what I’m supposed to be doing. Am I even supposed to be writing? Is there something else I’m supposed to be doing? Because if so, I was welcoming God to knock me off this course and onto the path He always wanted me to be on, assuming it wasn’t going to be painful, like a car wreck that decapitates both my hands, which is how I discover the career I was always supposed to have was working with Ugandan orphans or something.
Instead, I get more than one sign that yes, indeed, I’m supposed to be writing. I got feedback on some projects that was very positive and encouraging me to keep going. That feedback let to a couple of brainstorming breakthroughs on those projects and I was eager to start writing on them. I got news that the Pink Piggy premiere is happening. And more than a few times over the weekend, I caught myself thinking you know what? I kinda like my life right now. Sure, it’s out of whack – no day job, no significant other, still sharing a house with Roomie Heckle and Jekyll, who are slobs. But the money is there, and the desire and inspiration is there, and the time is there, so I might as well take advantage of it, and pretend that yes, I am a working writer. Because the only thing that would be different about my life now and my first big paycheck for writing would be that I would be living by myself, and I would finally have the comfy chair in the living room that has become the metaphor for success for me. Most everything else would be the same.
And then I caught myself rationalizing that those signs were just coincidences, and God didn’t send them, and it’s just me making events make sense. Heh.
At my Monthly Small Group, everyone commented on “Smiling Amy.” I didn’t have any prayer requests (especially because Stella and Wella are doing amazing, Wella is 60 –70 percent better, confounding all the doctors with his amazing progress), I just wanted to thank God for this moment, right here, right now. Before the Pink Piggy premiere happens, and people may not like the film. Before I write the scripts and send them out and people may not buy them. Before starting to look for a job and maybe there’s not any out there. This is the best place to be, going up the wave, instead of it breaking and sending you screaming down the other side in defeat.
And then I got through yesterday and came out the other side exhausted. Maybe it’s the caffeine wearing off. Maybe it’s reality setting in. Maybe it’s exhaustion setting in, the weight of people’s expectations about the film, the script, the play, people watching me, thinking there’s someone who’s on her way up, weighing me down like an f’ing ton of bricks. Maybe it’s going without alcohol or candy for a week.
And I’m exhausted all day today, and I don’t know where the excitement went, or if it was even real in the first place. Now it’s gritting teeth time, and forcing myself to keep going, keep working, keep writing.
Nevertheless, I will still thank God for the moment, however fleeting it was. Where I liked my life and everything seemed hopeful, and people commented on “Smiling Amy.”