Before coming to the Breakfast Place (which some of you Dear Readers know because you’re seen the name here before) there was a discussion with the Kidlette. She’s someone who makes you proud: honor student, black belt, artist. She knows how to do things, and she’s only thirteen.
However, the last report card was not her shinning moment. For only the second time she got a C, and it was a low C, and that isn’t good news in our house. Now, I know how to hurt her, how to twist the screw so that if I really want to punish her, I can make it real. I don’t need to do anything physical, ’cause . . . hey, man, I’m a writer, back off. I know all the ways.
I told her, “You gotta do the things you need to do first, then the things you want to do right after.” She loves her art, she loves chatting with people. She get hung up on a math problem, and she get into a panic, because she’s afraid to ask for help. I know that feeling, because I do the same.
But I fessed up to her: it’s hard doing that, because things get in the way. She has to do her school and homework, and it doesn’t leave a lot of time for friends and art. I’m up for nearly twelve hours before I’m able to come home, eat, and get ready to do a little writing. But it’s not always that easy. I felt the cold coming back, then it was just being plain-ass tired, then it was wanting to speak with someone online, because I have almost no contact with people, and every little bit helps.
This week cut into the writing. I only wrote two out of the five previous days, and I feel bad.
It’s all the bad habits coming back to haunt me, to toy with me, to say, “Yeah, you’re wasting your time with this writing shit. It’s going nowhere fast, so why don’t you surf the Internet for Hello Kitty porn?” (Yes, it does exist. Trust me.) And I hate myself for listening, because in all the times I have in the past I’ve walked away from writing for a while, and just sort of . . . floundered.
That was Bad Cassie, and I don’t like being Bad Cassie, because Bad Cassie has nothing in her life. The writing is a way to other things, but she wants instant satisfaction. She wants to see something for her efforts, and she wants them now.
The Muse told her a couple of weeks ago, “You gotta be patient. You’re new; people don’t know you. It’s not going to come overnight.” I do know this, and the logical part of my brain reminds me that it’s a very true statement. Sometimes, however, you wanna chuck Logic right off the train and party down with Desire (you’ll know her: she’s the Woman with a Dragon Tattoo, and she will rock your world), and get all the stuff you think is coming to you.
I told the Kidlette, “It’s all about time management.” It’s true: it’s putting one bit of shit in front of the other, and ticking it off the list. I have thing to do today. There is my other blog, which I haven’t spoken on in a bit, and my story. I’m behind on my Blender, and I have some friends I wanna hang with today.
A lot on the plate–but there is all day ahead.
It’s all doable . . .