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Sometimes I think I'm sabotaging myself with the blog; specifically, with the Garage Sale part. I wonder if the reason I haven't knuckled down to a new project since completing Len is not the depressing effect of having, oh cripes, seven books to market; five to publishers and two trolling for agents; and not getting nibbles on any of them - which is a plausible reason, I have to admit - but the habit of mind of once a week pulling an idea out of my head specifically in order not to work on it.
This goes along with my persistent suspicion that I'm malingering. I can't possibly feel bad enough to justify how little I've gotten done this year - can I? I mean, my life's not in danger by a long chalk. If I just pushed myself a little harder, couldn't I get more done? Yes, I have days when I am indisputably, undeniably, annoyingly incapacitated - but I bet I could get a lot more done on the other days if I hadn't fallen into the habit of treating myself like an invalid. And isn't is suspicious how, on the day after I make a lot of resolutions and plans and take steps to implement them, I crash and burn and can't do any of it? Even when I specifically restrained myself from overdoing it? Last week's migraine hit within 24 hours of my launching an initiative to do yardwork for 20 minutes a day, not one minute longer. No way in heck is 20 minutes overdoing it!
The people around me tell me none of this is so, but I don't know...I'm the only one around me 24/7, and it's far from clear to me that I am not the engineer of my own frustration.
If I were a character in a book, I'd know.
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