by Sylvia A. Winters
This last month I’ve been ridiculously social. Usually I’m more of the stay at home, never change out of pyjamas kind of person who uhms and ahs about whether or not I want to go out even for just one quick little drink. But the last month or so I’ve been out of the house probably more than I’ve been in it, catching up with old friends, making new friends, getting very drunk several nights out of the week, occasionally well into the next day as well (note: never again will I go straight to work from a night out—lesson learned).
It’s been pretty great for my mood, but not so great for my writing. The story I was working on has gotten waylaid somewhere in the middle, and where I was when I started it is not at all my frame of mind now, so that one’s probably for the scrap heap, to be honest. Instead now I’m starting something else, something I’m much more subdued about writing but that hopefully my focus will last for.
I’m coming down a bit now from my socialising high, ready to settle back into my desk chair and just put words on the page. This blog post is the start of that, I guess. Proof of intent. Or something like that.
That said, I still have plans most of this weekend. Really now I’m about ready to just spend the weekend in bed, but there are goth bands, so I’ll be there in my leather trench coat, probably hot as balls but not goth enough without it to be able to take it off (it’s such a hard life, really). Then for hangover Sunday I’ll be trying on a bridesmaid’s dress which should be… interesting. I don’t think I’ve worn a dress for a good couple of years, at least, and a fancy dress probably never. Photos will not be forthcoming.
I don’t know why I can’t seem to balance things. Really I should be able to write as well as everything else, but I have to be in the frame of mind where I can shut everything and everyone else out for a while and just exist in my own head, in the little world I’ve created; it’s hard to dip in and out and yet there’s not really enough time to completely immerse myself, most days. Not if I want to do things like sleep. Still, occasionally shit gets done. Words get written, a story gets finished. Hopefully this will be one of those, and if not, there’ll be others. Sometimes a story isn’t meant to be. I’ll get the balance right though, I’m sure, soon enough.