Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Have the Cake and Eat It

This week my boyfriend is out of town for spring break. It is Day 3 in Fort Productive Solitude, and I'm going nuts. There's not enough time. There just isn't. I had made a lofty goal of pounding out 30 pages in 4 days (I'm going out of town for the weekend), and it almost seemed possible, but for the other to-dos that I ALSO vowed to do now that I have time (time! precious little time!). Wash the shower curtain, change sponges, scrub the bathroom, dust the bookshelf, go to the gym. Cook. Clean. Laundry. Why won't dishes go away? Why every time I eat there're more? There must be a better way to appease the sink. Blood sacrifice? Salt and holy water? On Monday I finished the new beginning to the fantasy script I've been working on, then added another page, then cut 2 pages. Tuesday I started the new script I've been plotting. Wrote 3 pages (only! Only 3 pages!!), then woke up at 2 in the morning and wrote 4 more pages before I realize that I'm not in college anymore and need sleep to function at work. And now, Wednesday! Cruel Wednesday marking the half way point of this week. And soon I will sink back into the swamp of blissful, mindless, happy, oblivion of LOW PRODUCTIVITY.

Onyx once compared writing while in a relationship to cheating on your girlfriend. I think I laughed. I now weep in misery. I suck at cheating. I've tried writing around said boyfriend, behind said boyfriend, blatantly in front of said boyfriend. It's useless. I wrote 10 pages at most in the past month. While he also desperately wants to study for his exam, we are like two people who decided to have an open relationship, but only cruise the bars half heartedly. An hour a day is just not enough for me.

I look back at my life 2 years ago, when I was at the height of writing productivity. I didn't work out, I didn't go out, my food were mostly bought or frozen, yet somehow dirty dishes would pile out the sink onto the counter and eventually the floor. I was quite convinced I was going to die alone in the woods with cats. At the absolute highest/lowest point, there were mice in my apartment and all I did was break off the part of food that I found chew marks, and eat the rest. My cowriter at the time saw this and pointed it out to me. I couldn't figure out what the hell was his problem. If he didn't want my food just leave it. I could do 30 pages in a week back then. I don't miss that kind of life. But I do.

How on earth do people eat a healthy balance of vegetable and protein, cuddle, and actually write daily?

Rick Moranis, where are you?

I've actually been wondering that myself a lot lately...