I'm suffering just a tiny bit from procrastination this morning. I can pin this down to my slovenly ways as follows:
1. I'm a scruffy beggar when I'm working and in the zone.
2. I've been hammering away at bookbinding all week.
3. I simply had to go to the shops.
4. I couldn't go out with my hair as it was, so I had to spend a while washing and de-nesting it, which cut into my morning routine. I shall spare you the description of what I looked like pre shower, suffice to say it wasn't good.
5. When leaving the shop, my car wouldn't budge. I tried for a few minutes in forward and reverse but it was jammed. I feared the worst. Broken car, too poor to have it fixed, car stuck at Co Op for weeks.
6. Garage man was just turning out of the road opposite and came to my aid. He got in it and it worked first time. he laughed at me and I think the car giggled up its exhaust too.
7. I came home and made a cup of tea.
So, obviously I'm back at my desk now and all is (fairly) well. I must keep on working and striving to make money, as there's a cash crisis chez Umbel this month. The details are boring but I spent a while in uncharacteristic tears yesterday over it all. We're not going to die or anything, but it rocks my confidence in myself and my ability to keeps heads above water with this pipe dream of being a working artist. I do the work bit, but I seem to keep falling short of the money earning part, which isn't on at all. I've said it before, but I need longer days. Ten hours work in every twenty-four isn't doing it for me. The rest of my life must be cancelled in order to produce enough stuff that eventually it will start selling.
Do I cut a few days out and get a part time job? I have one already at weekends but it's not consistent, and whereas I love it, I can't count on it 100%, hence my penniless state right now. Or do I strive at what I'm doing art wise and keep faith that it will eventually work? I desperately need a crystal ball or somesuch to help me through this rough patch.
Speaking as a middle-aged (ish) woman it's hard to know what's right/wrong, real/drama sometimes. Hormones, solitude, other people's weirdness and general life worries can cloud your view and you can end up feeling whacky emotions that you'll look back on and want to give yourself a smack round the chops for even entertaining. The worst part is that when morose episodes happen it's nigh on impossible to work. Somehow I managed to shake it off yesterday, probably through sheer bloody mindedness, but that's rare when I have the dooms.
Gawd I'm depressing. Stop reading this at once!