Sometimes a posting comes along at the right time. I’m feeling a bit frustrated, writing-wise, and having trouble deciding if going to the Erma Bombeck conference would be a good thing or just an extra expense (would probably block out my chance of seeing Newfoundland this summer). My dreams of being published are slipping a bit, and I’m feeling a bit bleu as another contest goes by with no prize for DA.
And then I read this blog entry by Paulo Coelho and it sounds so right. I’ve been at home on disability for three years, almost, now. Yeah, I am home on DISABILITY, so that implies I am perhaps not as capable of work as some. However, it is all too easy to let everything slip and just ease along, thinking in grey wooly patches or sunny warm corners or along the tune of something by Brahms or Debussy. It’s comfy. It doesn’t push you.
It’s hard always being a self-starter, when days spin out ahead of you in what seems like endless numbers, and you have a disease that makes you tired and all that. It’s so so easy to put things off til tomorrow, so hard to commit to anything as life meanders along.
You have the excuse, after all. I’m sick, you can tell others. I can’t possibly be expected to…whatever.
This is like death under a thousand featherbeds, gradually smothering until your life is nothing but sleeping, eating, breathing.
Like Coelho says, it’s important not to let that happen. It’s important to keep our dreams front and centre, to keep working towards them.