It’s dark here. Cold too. I find myself typing furiously to my left brain’s rhythm while maintaining a mental high on extremely caffeinated tea and left-over Halloween candy. I don’t even like candy. Alas, society has deemed it professionally acceptable to make decisions while tripping on caffeine and sugar highs, but not an alcohol induced buzz. If only it really was 5 o’clock somewhere…
Hello, and welcome to the end of the year craze. Year end professional goals and expectations that once masqueraded as “reasonable” and “mature” now have a startling resemblance to two other words–“sadistic” and “masochistic.”
While my left brain is rollicking in fields of rational gold, complete with billable toga, and suited harp, my right brain has been locked away in a dungeon straight out of Tolkien’s Mordor. I let it out to breathe last night, and it made a dash for Virginia’s best burger at Del Ray’s eclectic Evening Star, riffled through a few pages of A.S. Byatt’s brilliant Possession (shhh, I don’t want to know she’s still alive), and even managed to scroll through the riveting selection of artists at the Birchmere, 9:30 Club, State Theater, Ram’s Head and Jammin’ Java, which boasted such sought after bands as “Dirty Sock Funtime Band,” “The Drugstore Cowboys,” and “Four Bitchin’ Babes.”
Then it was back into the dungeons of paper cutting thought. It could be worse. I could be doing something boring like renovating a house like Two Timing the Cosmos, undertaking my second novel like Left Brain Write, surviving seven years of blogging like Listen Missy, enduring Tamburlaine like Towwas, or moving from New York City to Virginia to take on a new museum like Jarod.
Instead, I get all of this excitement to myself, and it has led me to one indisputable realization. My name is Sarah. And I have the workaholic-post-marathon-bad-music-pre-holiday-writing-block blues.
”Hi Sarah.”
Anybody know of any solid 12 step programs back to a personality?
Don’t answer that.
