She falls off the damn map. Because a perfectionist (even a reforming one) likes to limit that “I don’t know WTF I’m doing” period to as little time as possible. Which means she spends her first three months on the job over achieving, studying like she’s in law school, and just in general…scrambling for mental mastery. This week I finally hit my stride at my new job. That’s when I heard the voice:
“You’re not writing.”
And this where I give you a glimpse into my psychosis. …I, uh, I conversate, with the voice.
“I know I’m not writing. I’m too mentally fatigued to write.”
“Well, noooo, I really am mentally tired, and I want to be on my A game for my new employer.”
Voice: “Bullshit.” (Think Moira Kelly in Cutting Edge)
“I’m happy. Maybe I don’t know what to write about when unangsty.”
Voice: “Nope. Bullshit.” (This voice is actually a good friend of mine who asked that I contact her so she could “relentlessly support” my ass out of this writers block.)
And that scared me a bit, so here I am.
And that’s all I’ve got right now. This water’s cold. I’m just dipping my toe in to acclimate.
Angie, being Angie. A perfectly imperfect woman, daughter, friend, mother, and wife. I’m a lover and a fighter. I’m up, and I’m down. I succeed. I fuck up. (I cuss). I hope people see things here and in my writing they only think to themselves and are inspired to be unashamed of who they are.
Let’s live life… out loud.